


After Hours

by DarkoftheMoon



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Artist Rey (Star Wars), Ben hates his job, Craft Beer Bar, Dive Bars, F/M, Fancy Art Events and Galas, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers to Enemies to Lovers, Happy Ending, Lots of talk about plants, Minor Canonical Character(s), Motorcycle-riding Ben, New York City, POV Rey (Star Wars), Painter Rey, Rey & Rose Tico Friendship, art and artists, city life, this is a rian johnson stan account
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:01:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 82,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24013255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkoftheMoon/pseuds/DarkoftheMoon
Summary: Though she longs to be an artist, Rey Johnson spends her days doing odd jobs and her nights pouring beers at the Resistance. When an anonymous buyer purchases one of her paintings — and then another, and another — things quickly change for Rey. Soon she is swept into a glamorous and compromising world without a guidebook.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico, Kylo Ren/Rey, Poe Dameron/Finn, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 355
Kudos: 377





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic and I am forever indebted to my friends and first readers, [destinies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/destinies) and [inky_pens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inky_Pens). I couldn't ask for better people in my corner and I wouldn't be posting without their encouragement. I have to also thank my squad — y'all are the most supportive, funny, kind, and loving friends a gal could ask for. Thank you for reading!

She paints the succulents she saw in the Arizona desert. Little green and pink spiny cacti and purple gems of plants in terra-cotta pots. Sometimes they’re broken, soil spilling out across the canvas and little insects crawling up through the roots. These are the ones that sell — the beauty in the stark decay. Or they would be, someday. It almost feels like a metaphor for the days she spends lugging her portfolio up and down Spring Street, going from gallery to gallery with the same tune.

“Hello! I’m Rey, local street rat painter begging for you to carry one of my stupid paintings. Would you like a business card? I paint them myself on cheap pieces of card I salvage from the recycling bin at work. I only have ten of them so please consider carefully.”

But, you know, more professional sounding.

Most of the gallery girls are WASPy twenty-somethings with black-rimmed glasses perched on noses just a little too perfect to be genetic. They might be short or tall but they’re all beautiful and poised, more likely to grace the pages of magazines than answer phones and take out the trash at the end of a long day. They have a practiced, tight-lipped smile that Rey is used to.

“Thank you, but our space is limited and our curator is selective. You should try [insert gallery name], they might be looking for something in your style.”

Today she had traversed four city blocks. The worn soles of her boots gliding around tourists and locals. There had been six firm no’s, three “have you tried [insert gallery name]”, and zero yeses. Her iPhone buzzed in her pocket. An email from Rose about a masquerade party art showcase in the East Village that night — _Could be fun!_ She’d written. Rey didn’t have the heart to tell her she already paid the $300 fee to have just one of her paintings on display among the “Amateur Talent” section. It was the entirety of her meagre supplies fund plus a couple weeks’ worth of tips from the bar. Meals had been dismal while she paid herself back. She tapped out a quick reply and copied Finn and Poe, telling them to meet her at the bar at seven and could Rose please handle the masks.

Rey grabbed a rental bike and headed further downtown to the Resistance for her shift. It was still early, and Maz would be finishing the books in her cramped office above the bar.

It was a small space, mainly standing room and a dozen stools, but it was usually busy. Craft beer enthusiasts of all sorts crowded into the dark corners, sipping sours and IPAs and porters.

Rey fished her keys out of her pocket and slipped inside, locking the door behind her. A few cases of the new stout from Rebel Brew blocked the _Employees Only_ door that led upstairs. She pushed them a few inches and climbed nimbly to the office.

Maz was older than old, she was fond of saying, and wore the thickest glasses this side of the Hudson. Her tiny head was hunched over a ledger and calculator, a dusty desktop computer with ten-year-old accounting software her only light beyond the skylight.

“Did that shipment get here yet?” She didn’t look up from her numbers, clacking the keys with her long fingernails.

“Six cases. Chewie will be pleased,” Rey replied. She hung up her coat and slid her portfolio between the desk and the wall. It rattled Maz’s framed photo of herself, younger (but still older than old), standing between Han Solo and Leia Organa in the early days of Galaxy Wars fan conventions. It was faded in its brass frame, a layer of dust across the top. But the smiling actors and beaming Maz were one of Rey’s favorite photos in the office. Maz was a bit of a collector — trinkets and photos of glamorous parties from years past. Sometimes Rey would lose track of time making up stories in her head about the different portrait occupants. Which families lived in cozy cabins, sipping tea and arguing over puzzle pieces in front of the fire. 

“Is the old bear in yet?” Maz asked, nudging her glasses further down her nose.

“Not sure, came right upstairs.”

He was likely getting the kegs in order in the basement, making note of stock and ordering. Chewie ran a tight ship and liked things neat, despite his unruly hair and beard.

“Tell him to order more of the—”

“Raspberry sour? Last night he said he was making it part of the permanent lineup. Keeps selling out before the weekend.”

“And remind him that—”

“Rebel Brew’s owner will be here tomorrow morning with their autumn beers.”

Maz chuckled and looked up at her. “If you were better at math I’d just give the place to you. Lord knows you know everything else well enough.”

Rey smiled at her and bounded down the stairs. The cases of beer were gone and the trapdoor to the basement was open. She slid down the ladder and gave Chewie a fist bump, as was their custom.

They opened at noon and she wanted to make sure she knew the new rotation before the day crowd showed up. It was usually people on their lunch breaks looking for a quiet escape, the occasional traveler who stumbled in hoping for food but happy to stay for a beer, and sometimes musicians from the venue across the street in need of a drink after unloading.

After making her rounds she hopped back up the ladder and updated the chalkboard menu to include the new stout. Working on the chalkboard was the best part of her shift — she tried out new fonts and shading on the letters. Sometimes she’d add in the Resistance logo.

Everything was clean from the night before so there wasn’t much to do in the remaining minutes. She poured a 10oz of the raspberry sour and tied her hair back in a bun. When the clock hit noon, she unlocked the door and waited for the day to begin.

***

Rose showed up at 6pm sharp, fresh from work. They’d been roommates in college, and at first glance an art history major and an electrical engineer were unlikely to have much in common, but Rose excelled at everything she did, from graphic design to the little amigurumi crochet figures she sold on Etsy. They’d bonded over late night junk food and sci-fi movies from the 70s and 80s. Helped each other through college heartbreaks and early career stresses. 

“Thai Thursday delivery for you,” Rose chirped, handing her bento box to Rey. Rose’s company had catered lunch every day, which meant Rey had a catered dinner most nights. “I figured you’d be hungry for some panang curry.”

“You’re a saint,” Rey said, tucking the container behind the counter. It had started to get busy, every seat claimed at the bar. She refilled three IPAs for a few suits and pushed glasses of water to everyone she could see. Rose liked the cloudy IPA from Bespin Brewery but they were out of that so Rey grabbed the closest substitute.

“I think my ginger lawyer is coming tonight,” Rose said over the bar. She was chest height to it, and Rey thought she misheard.

“The elusive guy you’ve been out with exactly twice in the last two months?” Someone spilled the dregs of their drink and Rey took the rag from her back pocket to mop it up, tossing the rag into the bin under the sink. She took a clean one from the stack to replace it then went back to Rose. “Mr. ‘I’m dreadfully busy but will send lonely text messages at 2am’ that ginger lawyer?”

Rose blushed as she sipped her beer. “Yes, that one. He said one of his biggest clients is sponsoring the masquerade and he’ll be in the neighborhood.”

“Who’s in the neighborhood?” Finn said, towering over Rose.

“Rosie’s ginger lawyer, the one she met in the elevator.” Rey pushed the new stout to Finn and cashed out the group of IPA suits, leaving her friends coveted stools at the bar.

“Oh, I’ve been dying to see him in the flesh and not in screenshots of text messages,” Finn pat Rose’s back and pushed up to the bar. “Will he know how to communicate without the safety of an electronic box?”

Rey laughed and checked the time. Paige was supposed to be here by now to take over. Snap carried a crate of empties downstairs. It had just been Rey and the barback since Chewie left for the day. They were always understaffed, but the rent for the space took most of the profits and Maz was reluctant to hire too many extra sets of hands.

“Where’s Poe?” Rose asked Finn.

“Still at work, poor thing. Said he’d meet us there when he’s done.” He checked his phone, no doubt replying to the very man based on his expression. If there were a honeymoon phase, Rey didn’t think those two had ever finished it.

“Excuse me,” someone said to Rey, “May I get a Red Squadron?”

“That’s $5,” she said, putting the glass in front of the man before she snatched the ten from his hands without looking. She gave him five ones as change, hoping for a decent tip.

It was louder than average, between her preferred British rock blasting from the speakers and the chatter, but Rey liked the dull buzz of noise from behind the bar. Seeing her friends laugh at something, draining their pints, trading barbs and leaning on each other. She cast her eyes throughout the bar, the makeshift wallpaper of people at tattoo parlors on the wall across from her obscured by dozens of people, including a particularly tall, dark haired man who stretched a long arm to deposit his empty beer and five one dollar bills in front of her. More than decent. His was face hidden behind the other patrons. Rey yelled her thanks, whether he could hear her or not. She slipped the bills into her tip jar as he left the bar, holding the door open for a frazzled Paige.

“Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry!” She pushed her way to the back and up to the office. Rey cleared more empties and settled a few checks until she came back. She was still panting a little, cheeks red.

“Train was delayed and then ran express to Union Square so I ran here,” Paige said as she grabbed a pint glass, filled it with water, and guzzled the entire thing. Then she tied her flannel around her waist and nudged Rey with her hip. “Get going, little artist!”

Rey grabbed her dinner and started shoveling mouthfuls of curry while she climbed the stairs to the office, spilling rice down her shirt in the process. Once she was safely inside she ate the rest without tasting it and changed quickly, rumbling down the stairs and out the door.

The showcase was three blocks away in a loft that was once a sewing factory. Old Singer sewing machines were welded together into an abstract sculpture that greeted you when you walked in. Even the staff wore masks, sleek and white with black details. Faces obscured.

Rose had chosen different masks for each of them, but they were all ringed with gold. Rey had changed out of her beer-stained jeans and t-shirt into a slightly cleaner pair of jeans and t-shirt she kept in Maz’s office for emergencies. The mask Rose selected for her was a watercolored sunset and tapered into a cat’s eye. Her secondhand leather jacket gave her some cool girl confidence but as she walked around the crowded space she couldn’t help but compare her work to the featured artists.

Rich abstracts and sensitive line art and beautiful glasswork so delicate it looked like starlight. Large scale portraits covered in graffiti. The kinds of things you’d see copied in boutique hotels in a few years.

And there, tucked into the back corner, was the “Amateur Talent” wall. Rey’s piece, an overturned echeveria, was level with her knees. Not the best placement, considering most art was viewed at eye level or above. But she hoped that the colors, moody purples for the plant itself and stark black and white for the planter, with rich, dark brown soil spilling out from the cracks, would draw the eye. She felt like she was one of the least amateur amateurs, at the very least.

A small plaque listed her name, Rey Johnson, and medium, acrylic on canvas. She couldn’t afford oils. There was a plastic business card holder beneath it. She slipped all ten of her makeshift business cards into it.

“You little sneak! You didn’t tell us you’d be showing!” Finn wrapped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “Proud of you, girl. It’s beautiful. Like all of your paintings.”

Rey blushed. Her friends always made a big deal of her work, and it was nice, yes, but it also reminded her that she wasn’t as successful as they were. Toiling away her days at the Resistance and running odd jobs in her off hours just to make the unfairly skewed rent she paid Rose and afford some canvas.

“So where is he? Your handsome suitor?” Rey asked Rose, who turned a particularly adorable shade of rose beneath her teal mask. She was wearing a new dress, and had put on some subtle, sheer lipstick. The ends of her long, dark hair in perfect barrel curls.

“He said he’d text when he got here.” Her phone was clutched in her hand, knuckles near white around the cherry blossom phone case. “And it’s still early. He works long hours and he’s coming from uptown.” Rose talked more when she was nervous, the opposite of Rey.

They made their way to the makeshift bar at the center of the space. The event was sponsored by the First Order, a popular chain of minimalist bars that had cropped up all over the city in the last five years. Their bar aesthetic was cold and clinical, but they pleased the Wall Street crowd and the hipster crowd with their vast selection. Each of their locations large enough to host hundreds, with dozens of brews on tap and their own distillery at the Williamsburg location to please the whiskey lovers. They hosted events like this one often, but this was the first that Rey had attended. Naturally the only drinks available were their house wines — sourced from vineyards in the Central Valley not Napa, which was overhyped — their Hefeweizen, cheekily named Vader, and a pale ale called the Krennic. Sparkling water and small batch sodas.

Their menacing logo hung from the ceiling above the bar. A looming reminder that the Resistance was small, but held strong. Rey ordered a Hefeweizen for herself and the pale ale for Finn and Rose. She hated to admit it, but the beer was decent. They’d never carry it at the Resistance, but it would do for tonight. And it was free. Well, minus her $300 display fee. She decided to eat her money’s worth of the appetizers that wound their way through the crowds, placed in neat circles and rows on silver platters. For every server who passed, she took three.

Soft indie rock played and the high ceilings of the loft took the conversations and laughter on flights above everyone’s heads. Rey pushed her mask onto her forehead, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ears as she listened to Finn tell the latest story about his troops. He was a choreographer at an arts high school in the Bronx. It catered to troubled kids, and he had his own troubles as a kid that landed him in military school. He somehow never adapted to a soldier’s style, but his students still called him Sir and referred to their dance classes as marching. Finn Storm and his troopers, always preparing for one competition or another.

“They’re driving me nuts, these kids! I can’t get them to watch _Save the Last Dance_ but they’ll show me hours and hours of Tik Tok dance videos.” He said, pulling out his phone with a shake of his head. “But actually they’re pretty good. Check out this one—”

“Is he showing off his students on Tik Tok again?” Poe said over his shoulder. “Sorry I’m late, they’ve got the trains running express.” He planted a kiss below Finn’s ear before shouldering his way to the bar.

They watched a few videos of Finn’s students until Rose nearly jumped out of her skin.

“He’s here,” she squeaked, craning her neck to look through the crowd. “I see him!”

“Shouldn’t be too hard to spot, eh?” Rey said, turning to survey the room over her beer. Sure enough, by the entrance was a well-dressed redhead with pale skin, his own eyes scanning the room from behind a grey mask. Those his features were obscured he seemed nervous, and that made Rey feel a little bit better, knowing that this stick-up-his-ass lawyer was excited to see Rose. As she nudged Rose in his direction Rey’s eyes snagged on the man next to him. He was tall and broad shouldered, with dark hair that waved to his collar and what looked like a strong nose. Before she could get a better look he disappeared into the crowd.

Before she could ask, Rose had squeezed her way into the throngs.

“Do you think we’ll meet him or will there be some sort of lawyer emergency that takes him away the second she says her friends are here?” Finn said, handing Rey another beer. She put her empty glass on one of the tall tables behind her. Finn had always been protective of Rose, ever since college. Rose had a little crush on him at first, but Finn only ever had eyes for Poe, who was briefly a TA in the psychology department before he quit his PhD to work for a nonprofit. And once he was no longer faculty he asked Finn out and they’d been together ever since.

But Rose had always fallen hard and fast for men who were always a little too quick to leave her in favor of someone less headstrong. Easier.

That was what Rey liked about Rose. She wasn’t easy, she was as complex as the work she did. There was no one sweeter, but there was no one more determined, either. She worked hard for the things and the people she loved. Her positivity was infectious. At least it was to Rey.

She slipped her mask back on and wandered back to the Amateur wall to see if anyone had taken one of her cards (no) when she felt someone step next to her. The tall man who came in with Rose’s lawyer. He studied the art beneath a dark mask, an almost scowl on his full mouth. She wasn’t sure why, but she started asking before she could stop herself.

“Do you like any of them?”

He turned his long face to hers for a fraction of a second before looking back at the wall of paintings and drawings. With a long, elegant finger, he pointed at her painting.

“I don’t mind that one,” he said, his voice deep and rough, but surprisingly soft. Like a wool sweater.

“What do you like about it?” Her heart was beating fast, why was it beating so fast? Why was she interrogating this stranger?

His lips quirked in the ghost of a smirk as he looked down at her. “Do I need a reason to like something beautiful?”

Was her heart even beating before because now it was _actually_ beating — fast, a woodpecker drilling against her ribcage.

“So you like dirt and grubs then?” She sipped her beer before she could say anything else. “Broken things?”

“I like the idea of life thriving in dark circumstances, I suppose.” He said, shifting his feet. All of his clothes were black and fit impeccably well. Not that Rey noticed the cut of his pants or how his shirt spanned his clearly defined chest beneath his suit jacket. A loose tie around his throat. Nope, she was not ogling.

Maybe a little bit.

“Well, I’m sure the artist would be happy to know someone understood what she was trying to do,” she said, smiling up at him. His brow furrowed. “It’s— I’m the artist.” She added.

Before he could reply, Rose pulled on Rey’s arm. “There you are!”

Rey turned to her friend, who was practically beaming. “Sorry, just wanted to check on my poor plant picture back here with the other peasants.”

“Hux is talking to Finn and Poe, I think they’re getting along— look!” Rose pointed to the bar where their friends seemed to be engaged in some very awkward small talk between very long sips of beer. Eyes on the floor. Poe kept one hand on Finn’s back.

“I want you to meet him, come on,” Rose said, grabbing Rey by the elbow and steering her through the crowd.

“Wait, I was talking to someone, I just want to give him one of my cards first,” Rey said, weaving her way back. But the tall stranger was nowhere to be found. She grabbed the small stack of business cards from the lucite case and counted them. There were nine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some canon references:
> 
> A Cloudy IPA from Bespin Brewery -- [Bespin](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Bespin) is gas planet whose main occupied area is Cloud City, which is one of the main locations in _Empire Strikes Back_.
> 
> Red Squadron in this fic is a red ale -- in canon it is a group of [starfighters](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Red_Squadron_\(Rebel_Alliance\)) in major battles on Scarif ( _Rogue One_ ), Yavin ( _A New Hope_ ), and Endor ( _Return of the Jedi_ ). 
> 
> A hefeweizen called [Vader](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Anakin_Skywalker) is my cheeky reference to the German _Vater_ , which is father. As in _Luke I am your_. Hefeweizen is a German beer.
> 
> A pale ale called the [Krennic](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Orson_Callan_Krennic) is in reference to the main antagonist in _Rogue One_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things at the Resistance were, in short, a disaster.
> 
> Until a certain tall, dark, and handsome showed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind response to the first chapter! Every comment and kudos has me like :')
> 
> Forever grateful to [destinies](/users/destinies/) and [inky pens](/users/inky_pens/) for their encouragement and edits.

On Fridays she watered office plants for Takodana Botanicals then ran home for a few hours before heading to the Resistance. It was a decent gig — going from office to office and watering snake plants and palms and pothos and the occasional fiddle leaf fig. Things that would survive the low light and stale air of the average corporate building. Most of the time she caught up on her podcasts or listened to an audiobook and texted Rose from various mirrored lobbies and elevators.

Rey planned her watering route to make a circle back to the train home, which meant ending her day in what her friends called “the villain’s tower” — a sleek midtown skyscraper, all black reflective glass and spires. For some reason, she didn’t like to start her day there. It was best saved for last. She filled her watering can in the maintenance closet on the 17th floor, an architecture firm with so many beautiful greens and people who waved and smiled at her. Then she rode the elevator to the 21st, careful not to spill. You needed a security badge just to get the elevator to allow you to reach the upper floors, and Rey had received a blank, white keycard her first day.

On the 21st floor everything was quiet and clean. Black floors so glossy she practically tiptoed to avoid leaving scuffs. Twin dracaena plants stood sentinel on either side of the polished black doors to the very prestigious lobby of Snalps Ventures. Rey had never actually been inside, nor seen anyone enter or leave. But she assumed it was grand.

On her first day she looked them up. It was a venture capitalist firm run by two aging billionaires. They held financial strings in various companies and military research. Things Rey didn’t fully understand but she knew they gave only a fraction of their vast wealth away and that told her enough about the kind of people Edmund Snoke and Sheev Palpatine surrounded themselves with. Yes people whose sole job was to make them richer.

Security cameras kept a watchful eye as she gave the plants their weekly serving of New York’s finest tap water. It rarely took more than three minutes from the elevator doors opening to her retreat.

The empty watering can bumped against the back of her legs on the long descent to the first floor. It was collapsable, and she let it hang from her backpack while she texted Rose.

 _Prayers up to the MTA gods_ , she typed out, followed by a string of emojis. Rose sent back three prayer emojis and a red heart. Next she scrolled through her social apps, aimlessly liking and retweeting until the doors opened. As she stepped off the elevator, an email came through from the event organizer for the showcase.

 _Ms. Johnson, I am pleased to inform you that your painting,_ Scavenger’s Light _, has sold!_

She stopped walking and looked around, as if there would be a camera crew waiting to yell, “ _Gotcha!_ ” but there was only Randy, an intern she met in the elevator a few weeks back. He was balancing a tray of drinks and nodded a brief hello before making his way to the elevators. She tucked herself into a corner of the lobby and pulled the email back up.

_As previously discussed, all amateur talent works were listed for $500, minus our ten percent fee. Please expect payment to arrive within 30 business days. Thank you for featuring your work with us. The event met its fundraising goal because of artists and art appreciators. We couldn’t have done it without you! We wish you the best and look forward to sharing your art in the future._

It was the first piece she had ever sold, outside of digital commissions and the occasional corporate logo. It meant that she earned back what she spent just to be featured, and a little extra that she could put towards supplies. She tapped out a quick reply.

_Wow! Thanks so much. May I ask who the buyer was? This was my first major sale and I would love to thank whoever it was personally._

Her phone slipped into her pocket and she bounded down the block to the train. Biking was her preferred mode of transportation but it would be faster to take the train home and she needed a shower before work. A few buskers played a catchy tune on the full platform. She squeezed her way onto a car and daydreamed until her stop. Once she was above ground she checked her phone and was surprised to see a response.

_I’m sorry, Miss Johnson, but the buyer wished to remain anonymous. Kind Regards._

Her heart sank a little. Perhaps her friends pooled together to buy the painting as a way to boost her spirits. Or there was someone rich enough to buy up all the amateur art as some sort of charity project to help them reach their fundraising goal. It’s not like her point of view was anything special, anyway. Whoever bought it, well, good for them.

The watering can thumped by the door, trapped beneath her backpack. Rose was still at work so Rey poured a glass of water, drained it, and began rummaging through the fridge for something to eat before her shift. Bits and bites of leftovers and nibbles of cheese. She sprinkled some feed in BB8’s bowl, watching the bright Betta dart over to the larger flakes. A long, hot shower after she finished. She’d just settled onto the couch for a quick nap when her alarm blared — she’d fallen asleep and had five minutes before she had to leave for the Resistance. _Shit._

It was just enough time to brush her teeth and throw on her preferred Friday night uniform of black jeans and a fitted white tank. Her hair half dried and frizzy from the microfiber of the couch. The bar would be crowded until closing and she felt hungover from her prolonged nap. After catching her reflection in the bathroom she decided it wouldn’t hurt to throw on some concealer and mascara so she swept them into her bag on the way out.

Headphones on, shoulders squared, she pushed her way onto the first train available and wormed her way to a seat after one stop. She pulled out her phone. There were a few new notifications but she ignored them to tap some concealer beneath her eyes, using her phone as a mirror. She’d wait on the mascara until they were stopped to avoid an eye injury.

One of her emails was a request for a courier the next morning with a promise of double the usual fee for the urgency. It meant being in SoHo by dawn. Sleeping strange hours was normal for her and the money was good. Rey accepted and set an early alarm, adding the address to her calendar. It was easy enough to open the email about the sale again, just to make sure it was real. An anonymous buyer. When she left the showcase there were still nine of her business cards there.

She thought about the man she spoke to, however briefly, about her painting. Perhaps he was a mysterious art dealer who took pity on amateurs and gave them a boost in the industry. He would tell all his fancy art friends about the young ingenue painter and soon she would be inundated with offers from all the galleries in the five boroughs.

Or maybe all of her pavement pounding had paid off and someone finally took a look at her piece of junk website and came to the showing just to look down the back at the amateur art to find her. Asking everyone who worked there, “ _Where’s Rey Johnson being featured? She is the future of art as we know it and I must have this painting!_ ”

Or maybe not.

At the very least, it was someone with $500 to spend on what was ultimately a perfectly adequate still life. Perhaps it would hang in a optometrist’s office. Or maybe a nail salon. Someplace transient. Where sitting and waiting for a manicure to dry could be made a little more interesting by the painting of a fallen plant, dark soil and bright leaves. They would think about why it was there or who had painted it. Maybe they would find it strange. Or maybe they would feel something akin to what she was hoping to achieve. And that would be enough.

* * *

Things at the Resistance were, in short, a disaster.

Chewie was at the hospital, something about pulling his shoulder lifting kegs. Snap and DJ would have to handle rotating kegs on top of the washing up and running bottles up to the bar. Which would have been fine, if Paige hadn’t also been away for the weekend. This left a very flustered Rey alone behind the bar, waiting to hear from Maz.

“Hey!” someone shouted over her shoulder, needlessly loud. “Can I close out? HEY!”

“Oi, just a moment!” She sloshed some dark ale all over her arm, getting speckles on her white top. In her flustering she elbowed an empty glass, knocking it to the floor. “ _Shit.”_ She whispered. She wasn’t normally this clumsy.

A flannel-clad Chad type at the edge of the bar waved at her. “Still waiting over here!”

She passed the beer to its owner then took the loud man’s name — Mason Cooper, a decidedly Chad-type name — to close his tab. _If this asshole doesn’t tip_ , she thought, moving down the bar, taking new orders and clearing empties. There was a pause in the chaos and Rey checked her phone.

 **Maz Kanata:** _I’m so sorry this dinner is dragging. If you have to, say we’re out of most of the drafts and update the sign outside. Will be there as soon as I can. Maz._

 _Shit_.

It was barely 8pm, and she had stained her shirt, broken two glasses, accidentally double charged someone, and she had to pee but neither of the guys downstairs could cover for her because things were moving so quickly.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes just a second,” she said, pushing her phone back into her pocket. Another voice shouted for a refill on their IPA and two others slapped credit cards down, staring at her. Rey spun back around, pouring another beer before swiping the first card and chucking a pen to a poor girl clutching her can of unfiltered cider.

“Excuse me?”

She could barely hear him and forced herself not to roll her eyes as she turned to the speaker with a clipped, “yes?”

A tall man was watching her with dark eyes and a serious expression. Features elegant and exaggerated. _Oh_.

She tried again. “What can I get for you?” she smiled before the intensity of his gaze made her look away. Her hands busied themselves mopping up the bar and collecting empties. Eyes focused on her task and not the way his own hand gripped the edge of the bar.

“Is it just you? On a Friday?” The man spoke in a low baritone, and she strained to hear him over the ruckus around her.

“Unfortunately our other bartender is in Montreal, the owner is stuck at an event uptown until late, and our manager is in the ER. Normally one of the barbacks would have to help but we’re so busy I don’t think I will even get a break to hit the loo until midnight.” She was rambling, stacking glasses and putting them into the dish bin. Anything to keep from blushing. _Get a grip, Johnson._

“Let me help you,” he said, leaning further across the bar.

Rey let out a breathy laugh and cashed another person out. Snap popped open the trap door and handed her a clean dish bin of glasses, taking the already full bin of empties back down without another word.

“Look, you should at least be able to take a bathroom break. I won’t touch the register I’ll just take orders and you can handle the transactions when you get back.”

Already he was pushing his way to the rear of the bar, leaving her gaping at him. Now he was swinging the little half door and towering over her with his large frame. He took the rag from her hand, his pinky grazing her finger.

Rey flicked her eyes over the bar. Most of the patrons were happily swigging beer and laughing together. For the first time that night no one seemed eager for her attention, aside from her handsome rescuer. This man. Not her anything. _Shit_.

“I take it you know how to pour?” He nodded. She looked over the crowd again. “Only take orders. Mark them on a napkin with a description of the person. If anyone gets eager about closing out before I get back offer them a 4 ounce on the house to wait three minutes.” She stepped around him, more than aware of how close their bodies were, and paused at the door, “Thanks, by the way. And please don’t rob me.”

The bathroom was unoccupied and she went about her business quickly, tapping a quick text to Rose like the multitasker she was.

_Bar is a MESS and I am a mess and an extremely hot tall dude offered to help so either this is my meet cute or he’s going to clean out the till while I pee_

She washed her hands — she may be a mess but she’s not gross — and glanced at Rose’s reply.

_I’ll go home with ginger lawyer tonight if you need an excuse to take him home ;)_

Rey giggled and put the phone away. Things had progressed for Rose and her lawyer in the two weeks since the showcase. Instead of late night text messages it was sweet displays of affection. Regular date nights and a sunburst of flowers delivered the day Rose had one of her parts approved. It made Rey happy to see her friend so smitten.

She looked in the mirror and thanked the stars for waterproof mascara. A few strands of hair had fallen from her bun. Other than that, the stains on her white shirt, and her sweaty forehead this was as good as she was ever going to look for some random attractive man who came to her rescue. Or to steal from her. Time would tell.

He looked at home behind the mahogany bar. The sleeves of his black sweater pushed up his forearms, rag tossed casually over a shoulder. A perfectly poured IPA exchanged for a crisp tenner that he set beside the register. When he caught her eye the edge of his full lips turned up.

Rey took in the clean bar mats and neatly stacked glasses.

“I think you may have got yourself a job. For tonight, anyway,” she said. On a napkin he had recorded orders for a porter and a raspberry sour. Handwriting so fine it was like he took calligraphy lessons. Rey tapped the orders into the system, adding to a tab for Fisher and then cashing out the IPA. “Did they want change?”

He shook his head and pulled the bin of empty glasses out from under the sink, handing them to a very confused Snap and taking the bin of clean glasses in exchange. He stacked pint glasses with ease while Rey handled the customers. Soon the two of them created a rhythm — dancing around each other to pour beers and open bottles and put crumpled singles in the tip jar. They made light smalltalk about the menu and the weather lately and the construction on 7th. It was strange to share the tiny space with someone other than Paige, but after working so well together for nearly an hour Rey came to appreciate his presence.

“Ben,” he said suddenly, his rich voice shaking her from her thoughts.

“Huh?”

He cleared his throat and she watched his Adam’s apple bob. “My name’s Ben. I don’t think I introduced myself before—”

“Before you crossed over the ‘do not cross unless you’re staff’ line?”

There was a touch of pink on his cheekbones and at the sliver of ear visible between the dark waves of his hair.

She chuckled, “I guess we skipped over that part. I’m Rey.” He didn’t hold out his hand for a handshake, which surprised her. It was such an American thing she’d gotten used to it, despite not enjoying physical contact with strangers outside of a crowded subway car. The pad of her thumb pressed against her knuckle, wanting to reach out and feel the warmth of his hand in hers. But something sparked behind his eyes for an instant before he blinked and looked away.

One of the larger groups settled up, leaving the bar a lot quieter than it had been the last hour. Rey checked her phone and, as she thought, Maz was held up. She told her that they had it handled. By the time Maz got to the trains and all the way downtown, they would be closed.

As the night soared ahead, Rey learned that Ben hated IPAs, loved British rock from the mid 2000s, and had never eaten watermelon. His hands, large though they might be, were dexterous and gentle. While the flustered nature of the evening meant she had broken four glasses — two before he arrived, two after — he didn’t so much as chip a water glass. They towered neatly beneath his fingers and slotted perfectly into the dish bin, which he handed down to Snap with a polite nod.

Rey talked about the different breweries they worked with and how she was counting the days until October, when they stocked several of her favorites. Ben was a red ale guy, so she poured them both a Red Squadron. It was a nostalgic beer, the oldest they carried, and the first to become permanent on the menu. Maz was friends with the owner. But Maz was friends with everyone.

Soon there were only three patrons left and they had arranged all the glasses and cleaned the bar top. Until she could lock the door there wasn’t anything else they could do but wait for the clock to strike 2am. She hadn’t needed his help for the last hour, really. Rey should have told him to leave or to sit on the other side of the bar but she was hesitant to lose his warm presence beside her.

Last call came and went. Soon all tabs were settled and the last man standing was shrugging into a coat and stepping out the door. Ben had moved to the other side of the bar, grabbing the broom as he went, and swept the floor beneath the stools. Rey flipped the light switch for the entrance and dimmed the interior lights. _How romantic_ , she thought, and rolled her eyes at herself. It was long past time to tell him he should go. But she hesitated every time the words touched her throat.

They worked in tandem, Ben sweeping and mopping the floor while she polished the bar top and taps until they were shining. Snap and DJ had finished the washing up and swapping of kegs. After taking out the trash they waved and disappeared through the back door. Rey locked it behind them.

Ben fidgeted with the sleeves of his coat and pushed barstools into what she could only assume was perfect alignment, probably a specific number of floor tiles away from one another.

“I can finish up alone,” she said, regretting it immediately.

“I don’t mind waiting,” his words overlapped hers and he looked at the floor. “It seems right to end my shift with the boss.” The corners of his mouth turned up and she felt a warm squeeze in her chest. Rey hesitated. What if she was caught off-guard by whiskey-colored eyes and broad shoulders and he was conning her?

“But if you watch me close out the register and take the cash bag to where it goes at the end of the night, who’s to say you won’t come back and burgle us? You and your goth boy band gang of friends?”

Ben chuckled, two distinct _ha_ sounds behind a subtle smile. “On my honor as a Solo, I promise I won’t rob you, alone or with my band of less-than-merry men.”

For some reason that didn’t fully reassure her. But it did tell her his last name, and that would come in handy later when she scoured the internet for any information on him. She nodded, a light smile on her own lips.

The stairs up to the office creaked under her quick feet. She shut the door behind her and took a deep breath. The cash bag ensconced in the safe and a note for Chewie and Maz about what orders to place left on the desk before she slipped her jacket on and chanced a look at the small mirror by the door. _As good as it’s gonna get for 2:30_ , she thought, smoothing a hand over her hair.

The long slope of his body leaned against the wall, relaxed for the first time all night, cradling a tiny phone in his palm, a crease between his dark brows. He pushed the phone into his pocket and straightened at the sight of her, tugging his sweater.

“All set?”

She held out a small stack of bills and he stared at her.

“It’s your share,” she said, taking a step closer. He raised a brow. “Of the tips. Half each, for all your help.”

“No, you keep it,” he said.

“I’m not a charity case,” Rey argued.

“I’m not saying you are, I’m saying I won’t accept it. You did the real work, I was just assisting.”

“But even assisting is work! You earned it. Take the money.”

He continued to decline, politely but firmly, until she put the money in her bag. She wondered what it must be like to be able to decline it.

“Well alright then. I don’t like it but alright.” She gestured for him to leave first. Each lock clicked into place and just like that, her workday was over. Ben looked left then right.

“Which way are you headed?”

“I’ll walk up to Union Square to avoid the transfer.” She shifted her weight. Not quite ready to say goodbye. “You?”

“I drove here actually,” he said.

“A car in Manhattan? Are you mad?”

That chuckle again. How she loved the sound. Warm like cinnamon and cloves. “Aren’t we all a bit mad? Isn’t that what the cat says in _Alice in Wonderland_?” She rolled her eyes and grinned, she couldn’t help it. “Not a car,” he added.

“So a Vespa, with a scarf trailing behind you and big sunglasses and some French music on the speakers? What color is it? A nice butter yellow or maybe peach—”

He jerked his chin behind her, to a black and chrome motorcycle. _Oh._

“I was right about your goth boy band then. Hell’s Angels, East Village chapter?” She laughed as she skipped towards it. Running her hands over the lush leather seat. It was an older bike, lovingly cared for. He watched her circle it.

“I’m in charge of the donuts for tomorrow’s meeting.”

Rey cackled, the sound echoing in the empty streets, and when she looked over at Ben he was smiling. Something about it reminded her of the pride you could see in someone’s eyes, like when she’d see a kid catch a baseball at the park near her apartment. The little girl’s father beaming and her own face alight with joy. It was a feeling she wasn’t used to. It frightened her.

“Well I don’t want to keep you from your gang responsibilities. I take donuts very seriously myself.” Rey picked at her thumbnail. “It’s late, I should probably head to the trains.”

Neither of them moved. When their eyes met, he opened his mouth then closed it, and looked towards the bike before turning back to her. Hesitating.

“I’d offer to give you a ride but I only have one helmet. State law and everything.”

“That’s okay, really. The hot dog guy at the corner is waiting for me.” She wanted to push him away. She wanted to hold onto him a little longer. So why was it so hard to say goodnight and walk away?

“It’s a nice night,” he ventured, and her traitorous heart skipped. “And I could use a hot dog before heading home.”

He stepped towards her and gave what could only be described as half shrug, half bow. As if his smirk was saying, “After you, then.”

Rey walked towards the end of the block, with Ben at her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [ twitter](https://twitter.com/xDarkoftheMoon)! 
> 
> Office plant watering services are a [real thing](https://www.ambius.com/indoor-plants/office-plants/office-plant-service/)! When my best friend read this chapter she was like "that seems weird" but the guy who watered the plants at my old office was a legend who listened to a WALKMAN.
> 
> The "Villain's Tower" doesn't exist in Manhattan but is inspired by [PPG Place](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/PPG_Place) in Pittsburgh, if it were black glass.
> 
> Ben's motorcycle is a [1983 Harley-Davidson XR1000](https://bikez.com/motorcycles/harley-davidson_xr_1000_1983.php) and I will talk about motorcycles more if you want me to but I realize we don't have all day.
> 
> Some Canon references:
> 
> Takodana Botanicals is named for the [Mid Rim planet](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Takodana) where Rey says "I didn't know there was this much green in the whole galaxy." in _The Force Awakens_.
> 
> [Snap](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Temmin_Wexley) and [DJ](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/DJ) are supporting characters in the sequel trilogy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where this fic got its name -- a night that never ends, walking aimlessly around a city and talking about everything and nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was tricky and [destinies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/destinies) and [inky_pens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inky_pens) helped me enormously. Thanks to [EllieCrickets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieCrickets) for encouraging me to list canon references! I've added them for chapters 1 & 2 as well.
> 
> Set the mood with an acoustic version of [ After Hours](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kmH-Ryu6Yo8) by We Are Scientists and an NPR Tiny Desk version of [ When the Sun Goes Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zfx9M_VBoWU) by Ben Gibbard.
> 
> There is a minor content warning. See end notes!

Once, when they were watching a Jane Austen adaptation with a bottle of wine, Rose stood and gallantly offered her hand to Rey. She had spilled her Sauvignon Blanc as she put her glass down and grabbed Rose’s hand, yanking her arm just a little too hard, before they both collapsed together on the rug in a fit of shaking giggles.

Rose declared, in her best imitation of a posh English accent, “Though she may be beautiful she is too unrefined for me, Mr. Graceful. I shan’t be bothered to dance with her.”

Rey wrapped the threadbare blanket from the back of the couch around herself like a dress. Then she put on her best Oliver Twist to say, “And I, Miss Grubby, could never marry a man so poised. Need me something more, I do.” They spent the night making up their own silly story and finishing an ill-advised third bottle of wine.

It was close to 3am. She had a large mustard stain on her shirt and even though she _always_ ordered diced onion on her hotdog, she declined them. But now that her previously beer stained shirt was also mustard stained, Rey wondered if having hotdog, mustard, and onion breath would have really made a difference. It wasn’t like she was on a date. Ben devoured his own hotdog in three swift, neat bites, using his thumb to swipe an infinitesimal fleck of mustard from the corner of his mouth. Everything about him was refined and while she shoved the rest of the bun into her mouth, chomping like some guinea pig, she felt feral in comparison. Miss Grubby and Mr. Graceful indeed.

A few ride shares and taxis picked up passengers on street corners. The city sounds a little less vibrant than they would have been just an hour before. New York may be called the city that never sleeps, but it had a certain calmness to the strange hours between midnight and dawn that were sacred. Even the flashing lights and music in Alphabet City was soothing. Or the singalongs wafting out of Irish pubs in Midtown. The rumble of the train as it crossed the bridge to Brooklyn, the skyline glimmering behind it.

“Would you want to — I think I need one last drink,” Rey said. “There are a few places that serve after hours.”

“I know of one, actually.” He ran his raised hand through his hair, rumpling it slightly. A large ear visible for a moment before disappearing beneath the dark strands.

Rey had a feeling Ben was talking about the Cantina when he gestured south. It was an old bar, with colorful patrons and live music most nights. But by this time of night it would be other industry folks and night owls. The stragglers and servers. Her preferred company.

There was no one at the door to check their IDs when they stepped into the small establishment. The Cantina reminded Rey of the things she liked about Arizona. Creamy stucco walls with shelves carved into them, like a desert cave. The stools and booths were worn, tan leather. And there was something about the way the bar lights softened everything, casting shadows between the warm glow. It reminded her of her secret place, at the back of the closet she shared with a revolving door of other fosters, where she would read and draw with an old flashlight propped on a shoebox. Pillows and blankets nested around her. The threadbare doll she’d had as long as she could remember tucked into the very corner. The one place she felt safe and calm and like herself for so many lonely years.

Ben tossed his jacket down at an empty booth and went to order for them. Rey allowed herself a few seconds of watching him walk away, only for him to glance over his shoulder and catch her staring. He smirked, and she blushed.

The wooden table had small chipped markings along the edges that had been filled in by layers and layers of sealant. Graffiti tags and ballpoint pen drawings. Carved initials: H+L and J+C and O+S and her favorite, L+ followed by a series of crossed out and replaced letters. A lothario, no doubt. All of it preserved and protected beneath the polyurethane. How long had they been there? Did any of them know each other? Where was smooth operator L now?

A glass of caramel whiskey slid over the letters, Ben’s knuckle brushing the tips of her fingers. He folded himself into the tan booth, lounging back to accommodate his long legs. One of his elbows rested atop the seat, his fingers tracing the stitching of the leather. Rey tucked her own legs beneath herself, fully relaxing after the first fiery sip.

“I love this place,” she said, eyes closed to savor the smooth whiskey.

“Me too. I used to come here a lot,” Ben said, nursing his own glass. It was comically small and cradled gently in his fingers like a baby bird. So delicate.

“Did you carve your initials into tables too? I don’t see a B anywhere but perhaps you sat us here on purpose to hide your past exploits.”

He glanced down at the letters in the center of the table and chuckled, rolling his eyes slightly. “My parents were regulars before I was born. They lived a few blocks from here. My dad brought me when I turned 21. Showed up at my apartment, told me to put on a coat and brace myself. I did _not_ want to go but we hadn’t spent a ton of time together then so I took a deep breath and went.”

Rey smiled and waited for him to go on. They looked at each other for a long moment before Ben took another drink.

“He told me stories from the good old days and bought us round after round of this whiskey,” he tilted the glass, watching the liquid tip back and forth like waves. “Once, when he was a reckless youth — his words — he got in a fight in this very booth.”

“Defending himself?”

“He insists he threw the first punch but…”

It was nice to hear about his father. Rey wondered what he looked like. If that’s where he got the strong nose or the dark eyes. She wondered what his mother was like. If he had a happy childhood or a sad one, like her. Did he have dinner with them every Sunday, stopping for the bottle of wine his mother liked best. Did she make him his favorite cookies, sending him home with dozens. Were they there for each other and what did that feel like. She longed for it, even though she had her own found family among her friends and the Resistance. There would always be something missing for her.

They talked for a while about being newly 21 and trying all manner of drinks. Ben’s worst mistake was ordering a special without asking what was in it, only to be presented with a glass of what looked like blue milk. It tasted worse than it smelled and it smelled worse than it looked. His friends gave him shit for it when he couldn’t finish it. “It was too blue,” he said. “Certain things shouldn’t be that color.” Rey’s was losing track of tequila shots on a night out with Finn during Pride, where she saw men in jock straps and angel wings toss glitter into the air. They danced with her until she stumbled into the restroom and released the contents of her stomach. It was a long trip back home to Brooklyn, sweat-drenched and shaking glitter from her hair. She swore off of tequila after that.

It was easy to get lost in stories of the past. The flighty, fickle tales of youth and inexperience. The things you could tell a new acquaintance without feeling like you were giving it all up. Favorite coffee shops and bars and which subway lines you avoided on principle. Never quite scratching below the surface but getting closer to it. Rey had never excelled at making new friends. Usually she needed someone to push her, like Rose did, or someone who liked to talk, like Finn.

But Ben didn’t have to push her and she didn’t feel like she was boring, as she so often did at parties in college or the happy hours Rose’s team had. It was easy for her to talk and even easier to just listen.

The dim lights of the Cantina brightened, and the bartender called for final orders. Ben raised a brow and Rey shook her head. The two of them put their jackets back on and stepped into the night.

They walked side by side, the sidewalks mostly empty. They somehow wandered past Union Square and up towards Madison. Alternating who led the way on instinct. Turning down streets and making square blocks. Ambling along. An indie movie theatre was advertising a showing of _Galaxy Wars_ on 35mm. Rey stopped to admire the poster — it was painted in a vintage style, commissioned by the theatre. The farm boy, with his bright-eyed idealism. The rebel princess, strong and independent. And the scoundrel, in all his charming confidence. The villain looming like a dark moon, casting shadows over them. She loved the feeling of power and darkness and light coming together. The fine detail in the brushwork. The subtle bits of magic in the stars and the iconic lettering of the title.

“Are you a fan?” Ben asked over her shoulder, hands in his pockets. The expression he wore was like a sphinx, both emotionless and full of thought. Something like longing in his eyes.

“My neighbor, Mashra, had a VHS player and the original trilogy. She recorded them from a broadcast so they were grainy and skipped in certain places but I would sit just inches from the TV, completely captivated.” Rey said. The round, purple rug in Mashra’s living room was scratchy and her cat would curl up on her lap, purring against her knee. She would drink watered down Ribena and munch on stale digestives while the old woman worked on her knitting projects. Constantly crafting scarves and hats for the local shelter. “When I was a kid I thought I wanted to be a pilot, find freedom across the stars. Knowing there might be a whole galaxy to explore outside of my small little world at home was comforting in a way.”

“Where’s home?”

“It’s complicated — I don’t really have one, I suppose.” She said. “I was born in East London, but my parents — they weren’t really around much. Always down at the pubs. Mashra looked after me mostly. Until one day after school I found our flat cleared out.”

“What do you mean, cleared out?”

“Turns out having a daughter wasn’t exactly their thing—”

“Rey, I’m sorry—”

“It’s fine. Went to a group home for a while before Mr. Plutt adopted me and took me back to Arizona with him.”

“I guess the desert sun explains your freckles.” Ben traced them with his eyes. “You don’t consider it home though? The house in Arizona?”

“Hard to have much fondness for a place like that. Spent twelve years working for him at his shop until I turned 18 and could finally leave.”

She’d only confided in Rose and Finn about her childhood. It was strange for her to feel so comfortable talking about her past. Had she even told her friends that she once dreamed of flying?

“I got very used to being alone. Doing things for myself. Fixing old parts and scavenging for things to pawn so I could save up for a ticket out.”

“I thought you worked for him? Didn’t he pay you?” Ben’s eyes were dark, the space between them growing smaller between his brows. Rey shook her head and he sighed. “Sounds like a real ass hole.”

Rey nodded. “He was. But I got a scholarship and saved enough for a one-way ticket here. After that I took care of myself. Still do, mostly. Rose brings me snacks and leftovers from her office though. ” She chuckled, eager to change the subject.

“Who’s Rose?”

“My roommate. My best friend. We met when I bought my books, fresh from the airport. She took one look at me and dragged me out of the shop to get a slice of pizza."

“I’m noticing a pattern with you and food.”

“What about you?” She nodded back at the theatre. “What’s your _Galaxy Wars_ origin story? Or am I the only nerd present?” Talk about anything but me, she thought. Tell me you prefer serious documentaries about climate change or ask me to go see the space opera with you. Anything to take the pity from your eyes.

“It’s a long story,” he said, pushing his hands back into his pockets..

“Time means nothing when it’s this late,” she urged him on. They were always moving. As if the pull of the trains and the end of the night could be forgotten if they just walked a few more blocks. Turned a few more corners.

“Were your parents diehard fans?”

Ben pressed his teeth together, clenching his jaw briefly. “I suppose you could say that.”

It clicked then. His last name.

“Wait. You said Solo’s your surname?” Ben blushed and nodded, avoiding her. She looked at him more fully than she had allowed herself to all night. The strong nose. The eyes. The smirk. “Is—You’re Han Solo’s kid?”

He sighed, turning down another block. Groups of college kids mingled outside of their dorm. Laughing over bright phone screens and passing a joint.

“He was always one of my favorite actors. Isn’t your mother a philanthropist now? I got the _Galaxy Wars_ fan guidebook at a library sale for 77 cents when I was, gosh, ten? Battered old copy that smelled musty and had a big coffee stain on the cover. It had a picture of them at their wedding that I adored. She was so beautiful and they were so happy. I actually have a copy of her memoirs but—” Rey realized she was rambling and Ben was quiet.“Sorry, this must be — we can talk about something else.”

After a moment he spoke. “It’s one of those things that feels less like a memory and more like a part of me, I guess. We moved around a lot when I was little, when my parents were both still acting. I spent a lot of time with set tutors and other actors’ kids. Hotel rooms for a few nights, then trailers and more hotel rooms. Once my mother moved away from that life and started writing and getting involved in non profit work I was alone a lot more. Dad would be off filming, she worked long hours. And I—They’d argue on the phone about visits and whose work was more important. It was always late at night but I heard them. Visits would be postponed or cancelled. I’d watch _Galaxy Wars_ when I missed them most. When I just wanted us all together.”

Before she could stop herself she put her hand against his back and rubbed a smooth circle, pulling away before she kept her hand there forever. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“You weren’t. The family legacy is…I spent a long time hiding from it. I still hide from it, if I’m being honest. Like it’s easier to be alone.” He huffed a laugh. “Solo, as it were.”

“You’ll make your own legacy.” He looked at her and she let herself meet his eyes, warm like amber in the streetlights. Ben nodded and looked away, nodding again with his hands in his coat pockets. “I—I’m a painter, did I mention that?”

“You didn’t mention it, no.” He kept his eyes down as they walked. He cleared his throat. “What do you paint?”

“Still lifes and landscapes mainly, but I’m not—I’m just a hobbyist really. No one’s commissioning me for a portrait.” She didn’t want to tell him it took her almost four years out of college to sell a painting. On an amateur talent wall, no less.

Instead Rey told him about her high school art teacher. About spending her study breaks and lunch and every spare minute in the art room, mixing colors and working on her style. The hours spent organizing her portfolio and essays for art schools far away from the dust and sand. The recommendation letters and applications her only hope at being accepted and scholarships her only hope at paying for it. Learning everything she could from Rian while she had the chance. He was only there for two years, and in those two years she’d felt more love and support than the other sixteen years of her little life.

“Your last name is your family legacy, mine is…When my parents left I was shuffled around to a few different group homes. They lost all my records in a fire. I was too young to remember my last name. I could have asked Mashra but…I think I wanted to be someone else. Someone whose parents didn’t just abandon her.”

She took a breath, casting her eyes to the sky, hoping to see stars but instead seeing streetlights and marquees. It would never be dark enough to see the stars in the city lights. “In the London group homes I was Rey Smith. There were a lot of Smiths, none of us related. And Mr. Plutt didn’t give his name to any of his fosters. Not that I would have wanted it anyway. It wasn’t until my art classes with Mr. Johnson that I felt like someone understood me. It was easier to let him help me because I could trust him. He knew me—he knew what it was like to feel how I felt. I don’t know, I guess that was what I needed. He got me out of Arizona, in the end.”

“Sounds like you felt lost,” Ben said, “and then someone was there to help you. I know that feeling.” He sighed, a resigned sound, the kind you made when you realized the trains weren’t running or your dropped your last egg on the kitchen floor. Defeated. “Or a version of it. Sometimes we need to accept the help we think we deserve. I’m glad you had someone like that.”

“I changed my name to forget the past and move forward with my life. It felt right to honor him in that way.”

They were quiet for a while after that. The lamplight hum and city symphony twinkling around them. It was nice, she thought, to have someone there with her.

“That was a long time ago. And my friends are great. And Maz and Chewie and the rest of the Resistance. They’re as close to family as I’ve got and I do love them. So really, I’m lucky. To have that support system. Now.” She paused, and he waited for her to go on. “But Rose had her sister and wonderful parents. She can sympathize but—”

“But unless you lived it you can’t understand, not fully.”

Rey nodded.

“From the outside, from the fan guidebooks and Hollywood biographies, I had great parents. And in a way that’s true. But it didn’t make them any less absent. Didn’t make the expectations of me any less difficult. There were things and places and people who were just more important than me,” he said. “Even good people can cause pain. No one tells you that.”

Rey stopped walking and breathed through her nose slowly. She could see the hazy faces of her parents, shutting the door behind them. The grim look on Mashra’s face when Rey knocked on her door. She could picture a younger Ben, sitting in a nice hotel with only the buzz of the television for company.

She followed the quiver beneath his eye as they both took calming breaths. Nothing felt like the right thing to say in that moment.

“For the longest time I felt so alone,” she said. It whispered out of her without preamble.

Ben turned to face her, taking a few steps closer. “You’re not alone,” he said.

“Neither are you.”

And though she knew she had people in her corner, good people who loved her, having one more, standing right in front of her, helped fill in the space that had always felt hollow. One of his hands twitched, slowly reaching towards her—

A loud, trilling sound burst between them. Ben dropped his hand. Rey scrunched her eyes and yanked her phone from her pocket, muttering a curse. It was her alarm.

Somehow the hours had passed and it was now 5:15am. Had she gone home when her shift ended, she would have fifteen minutes to throw on clean clothes and head to SoHo for her courier pickup. Their aimless wandering and weaving through the streets had taken them to Washington Park. Early morning runners and cyclists and a rollerblading legend of a woman passed them by.

Her courier gig was at 6am, a ten minute walk away. It left her another half an hour at best.

“If the rising sun didn’t clue you in, it’s dawn,” Rey said to Ben, shaking herself from her thoughts. She tucked her phone away, anything to avoid the minutes winding down. “I have to be at West Broadway and Prince for a pickup at six.”

“A pickup? Are you a smuggler?” He flashed a grin, crooked and charming. Rey wanted to make him smile like that again.

“Yes, but only the good stuff for the top clients. Wall Street types and celebrities and the occasional retired athlete.”

“Of course. You can’t fund your extravagant latenight snack habits on tips alone.”

“And that’s just the nightly snacks. I have an entire day of them and you’ve now entered the early morning snack habits portion of the schedule, Benjamin,” Rey teased, grinning up at him.

“It’s just Ben.”

“Okay then, Madonna,” she rolled her eyes and checked her reflection in a shop window. Absolutely wretched.

“No, honest. Just Ben, not Benjamin not Benji.”

“What about Benjemiah?”

He laughed outright, one of his large hands splayed across his stomach, shoulders rolled forward. Like a kid who told a joke, struggling to get to the punchline between laughs. If that kid were the size of a redwood.

“My dad would love you,” he said, then looked away, cheeks pink.

“Well, Just Ben, I have to stop at Jawa Cafe for my first round of snacks and a triple shot of espresso, if you still need a walk after these last several miles. Or an extreme amount of caffeine or a muffin or something. Keep your strength up.” She was stalling as best as she could, but it was nearing 5:30 and surely he had better things to do on a Saturday than trail after her like a puppy. But how she wanted him to.

He glanced at his watch and breathed sharply through his nose, exhaling with a frown. “I could use a strong coffee but I have an appointment in a few hours. I should probably head home.”

She tried not to let her face fall, not sure if she succeeded. He ran a hand through his thick hair and muttered something about getting back to his bike.

They lingered, taking slow steps to the edge of the park, where he would go left and she would turn right. Rey pulled a pen from her pocket and took his hand. It was warm and would cover hers with ease. She flipped his palm over and wrote her number on his skin. Marking him in purple ink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor content warning: This chapter contains some talk about child abandonment and loneliness. 
> 
> Some Canon references:
> 
> The Cantina is of course based on the [Mos Eisley Cantina](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Chalmun%27s_Spaceport_Cantina).
> 
> [Blue milk](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Blue_milk) is something I would never touch.
> 
> Did y'all catch all the initials carved into the table? 
> 
> [Mashra](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Mashra) was a fellow scavenger on Jakku, the desert planet Rey grew up on, who Rey was friendly with.
> 
> [Plutt](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Unkar_Plutt) is a junk yard boss on Jakku.
> 
> In this house we stan [Rian Johnson](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Rian_Johnson) and let Rey Nobody name her damn self.
> 
> Jawa Cafe is named for the [Jawa](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Jawa), who I once saw a tweet refer to as "the crack heads of Star Wars" and that might be a little unfair though it is hilarious.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was comforting and passionate but a little dangerous....The more she looked at it the more she liked it._
> 
> _And the more she liked it, the more she felt afraid._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone who has ever stared at their phone, waiting for a notification. 
> 
> There is a minor content warning. See end notes!

By the time Rey got home and kicked off her shoes Rose was cleaning the kitchen, a plate of cinnamon honey scones cooling on a wire rack. She turned the tap off and peeled the rubber gloves from her hands, then placed them on her hips.

“And just _where_ have you _been_ , young lady?” Rose said, the white of her teeth flashing into a smile. “Stumbling home during breakfast!”

Rey pushed passed to wash her hands and groaned. “It isn’t as scandalous as you’re implying, Rosie. I was out late and had to get to SoHo for my courier gig at dawn.”

“Not just out late but out late with your handsome rescuer!” She exclaimed. “If you don’t start spilling I will keep all the scones for myself.”

With a sigh, Rey summarized the evening as quickly as she could. “And then he left and I went and did my drop-off and came back home. Look, I’m in desperate need of a shower and a nap and about three of those scones, so if you don’t mind—” Rey sidestepped Rose and grabbed a scone before scurrying away to the bathroom. All while Rose shouted questions at her from behind the door. She took a deep breath and ate the scone, spilling crumbs down her front. The shower creaked on, the water pressure increasing.

“I know you can hear me! I need more details! _Rey_!”

She stripped her stained and sweaty clothes, pulled her hair from its bun, and stepped into the spray. Eyes closed against the soothing steam. Minutes went by and she sighed. She used the good shampoo and scrubbed her body down with a loofah. Letting the night wash off of her in a swirl of peppermint and lemon suds.

 _My dad would love you_.

Rey squirted a blob of conditioner into her hand, working through the tangles in her brown hair. Savoring the hot water against her aching muscles.

 _I know that feeling_.

She used Rose’s fancy Korean cleanser and massaged her face in the way she taught her. Rey let the water kiss her face, removing the mascara, long smudged beneath her eyes.

 _You’re not alone_.

The shower creaked off, and she squeezed her hair out. She picked up her dirty clothes and opened the door, immediately presented with Rose’s puzzled expression.

“Why are you so quiet? Did something else happen?”

Rey shook her head and forced a smile. “Rose I told you everything! We just walked around and talked and had a hot dog and I’ve been awake for nearly 24 hours. I’m just tired.”

“Well alright then. You’d tell me if it was something else, right?”

“Rosie! Stop nannying me. Everything is great. I gave him my number. We can stalk him on the internet when I wake up in a few hours.” Rey snatched another scone and brought it to her room before collapsing on her bed in her towel, asleep.

Sunlight blared in her room when the alarm went off at 2pm. Saturday was her off day, and she was used to abnormal sleeping hours. She had slept deeply, and was well aware of the damp towel beneath her. Normally, she would run errands and help Rose clean the apartment but today she wanted to paint. Needed to paint. The midday sun was the best light.

She threw on her old coveralls from high school. The legs were a little short and the charcoal grey fabric had long since faded to dove. Flecks of every color of paint speckled the front. There was a snag on the left knee from the time she was painting outside and her makeshift easel fell over, causing her canvas to tumble. She had run after it and tripped on the sand. The painting ruined. After that she made sure to paint on level surfaces.

The easel stood just to the left of her north-facing window and she grabbed a canvas. Most of the time she painted over old paintings and screen prints she found discarded in the street to cut costs. Today she chose one of the few new ones she had. Part of her birthday gift from Finn last year.

Her phone sat on her bed, inches from where she fell asleep holding it. A quick check showed no messages from new numbers, just one from Rose saying she was popping out for a bit and did Rey need anything. She requested her usual bagel order and a large iced coffee with milk.

Then she read a very interesting email. It was from a small gallery on Spring Street.

 _Dear Miss Johnson_ ,

_We have received interest in your work and after viewing your website would like to request the following pieces from your digital portfolio for further review…_

She was lucky to get a few hits on her ancient website each month, let alone requests from actual galleries. Malbus & Îmwe was on the list of places she had left a card in the last few months. She replied to the gallery assistant.

 _Hello, Jannah — I can bring by the requested pieces as early as tomorrow, if that is convenient for you. Thank you for your interest in my work. I’ve long been a fan of Malbus & _ _Îmwe and look forward to meeting you_ _._

A quick reread and then another to make sure she sounded professional and coherent. Then she texted Rose.

_ROSE!!!!! A GALLERY REQUESTED MY WORK WHAT IS HAPPENING???? SCREAM EMOJI!!!!_

Rey googled the gallery in question to see who they were currently showing and who she would be featured with. Mostly up and coming artists of various mediums and a few pieces by more well-known talent. Still, she was a complete unknown. She was nobody. Maybe Jannah was bored and looked at her website. But the email said they received interest in her work. Interest from who? She’d only sold the one painting. How could that lead to more?

It was strange, the way her brain pushed that feeling away with a gentle hand. She was eager to begin. Hands itching to hold a brush and palette. First she filled a pitcher with water from the bathroom sink, then she took her stack of water cups and arranged them on the side table next to the easel, filling each with an inch or two of water. Rey grabbed a palette and started mixing paints. Warm brown and creamy oatmeal. Deep reds and bright reds. A squirt of blue and yellow. A glob of white. A mass of black.

With a large brush she swept the lightest paint across the canvas, quickly washing the background.Soon she was lost to her own rhythm, focused on putting the brush to the cloth. It was quiet in the apartment, just the occasional noises from the street below. She hadn’t even put on music — couldn’t bring herself to put the palette down to do so. From time to time she closed her eyes. Picturing what she was working towards. It changed as she worked, evolving with her thoughts and feelings as she dabbed new colors onto the canvas.

From time to time she shifted the easel, chasing the light across her room, kicking clothes and books out of her way. Rose left her lunch on the desk, where pools of condensation ringed her iced coffee. Eventually her stomach’s grumblings pulled her away from the work just long enough to eat her cold bagel and suck down the watery coffee without tasting it.

After an hour or maybe two or three, she was never good at keeping track of time while she painted, she took a step back to view her work from a distance. Then she crept closer and added more detail, dipping her smallest brush in the brightest red. Dotting bits of white haphazardly. Stepping back and forth more frequently.

By the time she set her brushes down in the only clean water cup remaining, the sun had set.

Rey painted a galaxy within the pupil of a dark eye against pale skin. Framed with long lashes and a few beauty marks above dark brows. Swirls of fiery red and highlighted stars. It was comforting and passionate but a little dangerous. She had never painted space before. The more she looked at it the more she liked it.

And the more she liked it, the more she felt afraid.

* * *

Four days went by and Rey kept herself busy with work and painting her galaxies. Maz was away more often than usual, meeting with various breweries and potential investors. The Resistance was often busy but it was on a popular block. Their landlord was older and in the process of selling the building. Rent could go up or they could be kicked out of their space in favor of luxury condos or something equally sad, like a gym. Maz was fielding emails from the potential buyer about the bar’s finances and would often ask for Rey’s advice. But Rey’s instinct was to tell whoever this guy was to stick it where the sun wouldn’t shine.

Jannah at the gallery on Spring Street had already sold one of the three paintings they selected and another gallery had emailed asking to meet with her on Friday to go through her pieces. It was a surreal feeling, having interest in her art after so many years of nothing. But Rey spent her free hours painting more than she had in months. She had created three different galaxy paintings. The one she made of Ben tucked into the space between her headboard and the wall. It was easier not to think about him that way. The others were sweeping trails of starbursts and cosmic dust in a rainbow of shades. She added them to her digital portfolio and sent photos of them to Jannah, just in case.

Wednesdays were for odd jobs and catching up on laundry and television shows before trekking to the Resistance for a night of pint pouring with Paige and assisting Chewie with the kegs. He was in a sling for a few more weeks and though he was loathe to give up the controls, he did allow Rey more freedom than he did Snap or DJ. It would be a busy night going up and down the trapdoor stairs but at least her mind would be occupied. Or at least she hoped it would be.

While a game show rerun blared from the living room she microwaved some leftover fried rice and grabbed a soda. She ate quickly and cleaned her mess, then lay back on the couch with a lazy hand on her stomach. The game show contestant was struggling with a question about Magritte.

“He was Belgian, you git,” Rey answered loudly. She grumbled and swung a leg over the back of the couch, fully relaxing. “Probably thinks Monet and Manet are the same person.”

Light from her phone screen caught her eye and her full stomach lurched. A text message from an unsaved number. Her heart skipped then fell once her screen unlocked. It was a message from another Takodana Botanicals contractor, asking if she was available to water in a building uptown today. Rey sighed. Turning down a paid gig wasn’t in her nature, so she agreed, and got herself ready and out the door in ten minutes flat. Another text provided the address and list of offices. It was in the Villain’s Tower, but floors she had never seen on her Friday route. All of the plants had their own watering schedules, so it made sense, but it felt strange to walk through the main lobby on a Wednesday afternoon.

Music coursed through her earbuds and she wove her way through the lunch crowd scurrying to the building’s cafe and out the doors in search of sustenance. She wanted to get in and out with enough time to run home before her shift. Randy the intern carried a stack of pizzas to the elevator and walked in step with her, giving a brief nod when they walked into the lift together. Peeking just over the top of the pizza boxes, Rey could just make out a small group of suits exciting the elevator across from hers. Tips of heads, mainly, one impossibly tall with platinum hair, and another, even taller, with dark hair. She pulled out her phone. No new notifications.

The offices for a fashion house were on the 7th floor, and she gave the colorful orchids in their reception area their allotment of water. Orchids were tricky, and Takodana specialized in their care. Fiddle leaf figs and a few ponytail palms on 14. Dozens of prized orchids and a few succulents on 15. A law firm on the 19th floor had your basic smattering of pothos and snake plants to help purify the air, but it was so stuffy and boring in this office — tall bookshelves full of black and red treatises and walls of tan filing cabinets — that Rey doubted the poor plants did much of anything.

When she went back to the elevator she had to stop herself from pressing 21 out of habit. And it had taken her long enough with the orchids on 15 that she didn’t quite have enough time to go back home without rising being late. As she rode down the never-ending lift she checked her phone once more. No messages or emails. She collapsed her watering can and clipped it to her backpack then decided to use her extra time to walk downtown to work. There was an excellent falafel shop a few blocks away and their chicken shawarma was Chewie’s favorite. It was warm for late September, and she had already stuffed her jacket in her backpack above the change of clothes she’d had the sense to bring.

While she walked she tried to keep her thoughts from drifting to the corner of her mind where she had tucked Ben, pulling all sorts of things in front of the mental shelf he sat on — cramped, with his knees at his chin — hoping to keep him hidden. But try as she might she kept rummaging through her brain, seeking him out, just to take a look and confirm that he was real. Brown eyes and long limbs flashed through her thoughts of plants and watering schedules and what new beers were on tap. He waited for her there in the back with a smirk, head tilted. She could hear his deep voice, speaking inside her mind. _What are you looking for, Scavenger?_

She pushed him further into his corner and dragged the box labelled “Abandoned by Parents, age 4” in front of him. Stacking “Unpaid Child Laborer, ages 8-17” on top of that for good measure. Then she placed a few of her favorite high school paintings in front of the boxes. Green forests she dreamt of at night. The lush trees had soothed her, and she often dreamed of a cabin in the woods. Warm and inviting. She thought about stacked firewood and smoke curling from a stone chimney. Of the sound of water, somewhere nearby. Bird conversing in the treetops and chipmunks digging through layers of pine needles. Those thoughts carried her ten blocks.

At the falafel restaurant she ordered extra feta on her wrap because who was she kidding, it was that kind of day. And an order of fries that she dug into, burning her tongue. Then she stopped for a dozen doughnuts at the hipster shop next-door because who was she kidding, it was _that_ kind of day. She got an iced coffee to cool down.

Paige polished glasses behind the bar and greeted Rey with a smile. She and Rose had inherited the infectious Tico grin from their dad. Rey smiled back, happy to see her after days working the bar alone. Rey handed her one of the triple chocolate doughnuts and headed up to the office. Maz was hunched over her desk as usual, mumbling and clicking keys slowly.

“Anything I can help with?” Rey asked, plopping her backpack on the floor by the door. She rummaged to the bottom for her clean pair of jeans and faded grey flannel. The older woman squinted at the screen and pushed her glasses back up her slim nose.

“Nothing I can’t manage,” she said, typing and sighing. “The building has officially sold. As of the new year we’re under new ownership.”

Rey shimmied out of her leggings and into the jeans. “So what does that mean for the Resistance?”

Maz flipped open the box of donuts and met Rey’s eyes. “Blueberry jam. You sweet child.” She plucked it out and began eating it with vigor. “For now, we will resume. The new owners are supposed to send all of the tenants on the block an introductory email, according to my lawyer.”

“They bought the entire block?”

Chewie knocked on the door and gave Rey a fist bump. She handed him his lunch and he hugged her to his side with his uninjured arm.

“Thanks, kid. Is that a maple frosted in there?” His near-black eyes lit with joy as he devoured it in large bites. “Reminds me of home,” he said. Chewie always spoke fondly of his childhood in the mountains and lakes and forests of New Hampshire. Every summer he went back for a week to see his cousins and fish and hike. He’d come back with freckles on his dark skin and jugs of maple syrup for everyone. Tales of trout and the local biker bars. His beard a little wilder and his eyes warmer.

They talked about the new shipments and Rey sat on the floor with her back against Maz’s desk, savoring her meal. Careful to avoid spilling hummus and tabouleh on her clean shirt. It was a weekday, but with the warm weather they would be busy. She checked her quiet phone again before slipping it into her pocket and heading to work with a heaviness in her gut.

First she updated the chalkboard, sketching out some new fonts and adding some starbursts and twinkles around the specials. Maz wanted some face time with customers so she poured for an hour before heading home for the night. The hours passed. Rey caught up with Paige and traded jokes with the guys downstairs. At 8pm she checked her phone again. Nothing. She switched it to do not disturb and gave herself a new rule: no checking her phone behind the bar. It was unprofessional and she wasn’t doing herself any favors.

It was easy to keep busy with side work and cleaning and inventory. The bar sparkled and all of the labels on the bottles faced forward. The taps gleamed. Chewie left, which told her it was about 10pm. Just a few more hours of keeping the shelves of her mind hidden and her phone tucked in her pocket. Surely there was more for her to do. It couldn’t hurt to double check the inventory, though she knew Chewie kept a color-coded system.

Rey had just flipped the CO2 back on for a new keg when DJ yelled from the dishwasher to ask for the time. She wiped the sweat from her brow and glanced at him. When she pulled the phone from her pocket she saw the flood of notifications first.

“It’s nearly one,” she shouted back, then unlocked the phone to flip through whatever memes her friends had sent and close out the extraneous app notifications. Rose wouldn’t be home tonight. Rey grinned at that one. Finn asked if he could postpone their brunch on Saturday so that he could attend one of his students’ violin recitals. Not a problem, she would sleep in and paint instead.

A message from an unsaved contact.

Her grin reached her ears and she squeezed the phone in her hand. He had texted over two hours ago.

_Rey, hello. This is Ben Solo, from the other night. Sorry to have not written sooner but work has been demanding and there was an emergency with my Goth Boy Band._

She tapped her response while finishing up in the basement. It was last call, and she could head home in half an hour. Probably sooner, since she had already done most of the tasks she needed to before closing.

_What kind of emergency? Eyeliner ran out? Accidentally washed your black clothes with bleach?_

He replied quickly: _Even worse. The Cure reunion tour sold out._

They bantered back and forth while Rey finished work. They continued throughout her commute home, her phone clutched tight in her hand on the subway and on the sidewalks. Once she was home she showered quickly to get back to their conversation. When she finally collapsed onto her bed it was after 3 and though her eyes were heavy, she felt lighter than air.

It was his turn and she watched the three dots blink in their message window then disappear. They came back and disappeared again. She watched, waiting for him to send whatever it was he had been typing and retyping. After a few minutes she was about to roll over, convinced he had fallen asleep with one errant letter in the text box. The phone lit up with a new text from Ben.

_When can I see you again? Please say soon._

She did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor content warning: brief mention of child abandonment and child labor. When you get to _What are you looking for, Scavenger?_ you can just skip ahead to the next paragraph. All you’ll miss is me waxing poetic about a cabin in the woods that is a soothing mental image for Rey. 
> 
> Rey’s first galaxy painting is inspired by [this](https://hubblesite.org/contents/media/images/2009/02/2453-Image.html) Hubble [photograph](https://imagine.gsfc.nasa.gov/hst_bday/images/february-28-2019-galactic-center.jpg) that I found using [this neat link](https://www.nasa.gov/content/goddard/what-did-hubble-see-on-your-birthday) that [Inky_Pens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inky_Pens) sent me a while ago.
> 
> [Jannah](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Jannah) is a character introduced in a fever dream we all collectively had of an episode IX that was never made. Crazy that they stopped making these movies after _The Last Jedi_.
> 
> Malbus & Îmwe refers to [Baze](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Baze_Malbus) and [Chirrut](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Chirrut_%C3%8Emwe) from _Rogue One_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for a first date, don't you think?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter so far -- I hope you enjoy it!

Rose couldn’t stop fussing. The apartment had never been cleaner. There were containers of chocolate chip cookies and salted caramel brownies and coconut banana bread. Sourdough baking in the oven, sending tendrils of delicious crusty bread aroma into the air. It was rare for Rose to take a day off of work, vacation or otherwise.

She had four new dresses, three tops, and a new pair of jeans thrown on her velvet duvet along with thick jackets and cardigans and what looked like an old halloween costume. Leather duffle open at the foot of the bed, a gaping mouth hungry for clothes. Her floral print cosmetics case was spilled over her dresser, contour kits and unopened glitter eyeshadow pots casting a glare from the midday sun across the room.

“It’s just two nights,” Rey said, helping to refold the clothes Rose had laid out. “You don’t _need_ all of this.”

“But what if he wants to go hiking? Or what if we go swimming somewhere?” Rose held an old pair of hiking boots by the laces in one hand, and a sensible bathing suit in the other as if proving their use.

“Rosie, you’re going to Storm King to look at sculptures and stay in a cute B and B to have lots and lots of sex with your ginger lawyer. There will be no hiking that isn’t climbing him and no swimming that isn’t slippery shower sex.” Rey said, smoothing a thick wool turtleneck. “Which I don’t advise — injury is highly probable,” she added.

Instead of laughing Rose blushed a deep magenta then put her boots away at the very back of her closet. She sifted through the clothes on the bed, unfolding the things Rey had folded, and making new piles. Focused fussing.

Rey had her own date to worry about tomorrow. She and Ben had agreed on a picnic in Washington Park, to take advantage of the last days of early autumn warmth. Since he had asked her, they’d kept their texting to a minimum, and mostly later at night when the Resistance was quiet. He worked long hours doing…whatever it was he did. Rey hadn’t asked. She probably should have but there were so many other things they found themselves talking about that something trivial like where he sat from 9-5, answering emails and attending meetings that surely could have _been_ emails, hadn’t come up.

“What if he gets bored of me,” Rose said, twisting a polka dot tank top in her hands then dropping it back onto the bed. “After one night and a few hours at the art center he’ll know that I’m painfully boring and—”

“Stop. Boring has never met you and you’ve clearly captivated this man. We haven’t had two days go by without a new floral arrangement.”

“What if,” she trailed off, picking up a pair of thick socks better suited for winter snow.

“What’s got you so out of sorts?” Rey took the socks from her and put them back in their drawer, instead taking a thinner pair and handing them to Rose.

“I’ve never liked someone this much,” she said, shaking her head a little, as if clearing the doubts from her mind. “What if this weekend makes me like him even more and then it ends? What if…”

Rey swallowed. It was the monologue of the small voice in her own head brought to the light. She turned to Rose’s closet and pulled out the dress that Rose always said was her favorite. And it was Rey’s, too. It was a pale blue with a deep neckline and crystal beading at the bust. A flowy A-line skirt that flirted with her knees. Rose usually wore it with glitzy heels, boosting her small stature and her confidence. The way she walked when she wore that dress—the man didn’t stand a chance.

“Wear this to dinner tonight and he’ll never leave your side. And if he does, then it just means he’s not enough for someone of your caliber. If it doesn’t work out it doesn’t work out but that doesn’t mean you don’t try, right?” Rey paraphrased the advice that Rose had given her in college when she applied for an internship in the curator department at the Guggenheim. She didn’t get it but still.

Rose took the dress and held the soft fabric in her hands, running the pads of her fingers over the beading. Slowly, she smiled.

“It matches his eyes.”

“Might have to get dessert to go,” Rey pulled the lace lingerie Rose had stuck in the bottom of the bag out, dangling it from her hand. Rose snatched it back and the two friends continued to pack and laugh and plan out Rose’s weekend.

“Do you think we’ll get to meet Ben soon?”

His face blurred across Rey’s mind as she considered how to answer. “We just met and we haven’t even had a real date.”

They had narrowed Rose’s duffle bag down to the necessities, with a few backup wardrobe staples that made her feel her best, just in case.

“But tomorrow you will have! I wonder if he would get along with Armie. Maybe they’d become best friends too and we could—”

“Rosie!”

She grinned and went back to sorting skin care and makeup to take with her.

Rey considered for a moment and said “I promise that if this…whatever this is goes beyond tomorrow I will introduce you when it feels right.”

“Tell him next Saturday for brunch works best. I already discussed it with Finn.”

Rey scoffed. She hadn’t even told Finn about any of it yet.

“And you know Poe will tag along,” Rose continued. “So I’ll have to bring Armitage. That way we’re an even party.”

Rey groaned and went to the kitchen.

“Should I see what our options are? You know how hard it is to get a reservation these days!”

The timer for the bread had five minutes to go. Rey resisted the temptation to pull it out early and instead eyed the sweets. Just a few before she had to leave for work. Maybe a few more to take with her for between tasks. And a couple for Chewie. If they lasted until her evening shift at the Resistance.

“Don’t you dare eat all of the cookies! They’re his favorite!” Rose called from her bedroom as Rey stuffed one into her mouth.

* * *

That afternoon, when she was finished watering plants, Rey met with a gallery assistant at K2SO in TriBeCa. It was owned by one of her favorite curators, Amilyn Holdo. As one of the newer storefronts under the Holdo name, it featured mostly young talent and a young staff.

Bodhi Rook was wiry, with long hair scraped casually into a low ponytail and a neat, trim beard. A casual kind of handsome and cool. He walked Rey through the pieces they carried, telling her stories about the various painters and sculptors. Many were unknown and yet there were discrete, white SOLD tags on several works. It was a small space, and as she took him through her own portfolio, now featuring a few more starscapes and nebula, he held his chin in one hand, with his curious eyes roving over each piece. In the end he selected one of the darker pieces.

“Do you ever work on a larger scale?”

“Small apartment necessitates the smaller scale,” she replied, watching him move from the sleek metal desk to the printer behind him.

“You don’t have a studio?”

Rey shook her head. “I have three jobs as it is.”

“A lot of our artists work out of the same space and one of our buyers helps support it financially. I’ll get you in touch — I think if you were to create something like this at a larger scale, it would be a sensation. Space demands just that — space.” He grinned at her.

Bodhi talked her through the sale of the painting. The gallery would purchase it from her outright, list it at a mark up with the understanding that sometimes a piece will receive multiple offers and counteroffers, and then once it officially sold she would receive a percentage of the overall sale.

“Can I ask how you found my work?” Rey signed two copies of the gallery’s contract of sale with her purple pen, her signature loops ending with flair. She was an artist, after all.

“Heard from a colleague and then one of our patrons asking if we’d heard of you,” he said, taking the contracts back and pulling his own pen from his pocket.

 _Of course you hadn’t_ , Rey thought.

“Of course we hadn’t, but he’s a big deal so if he had heard of you, I needed to know why. Found your website. It’s a mess, by the way. When did you make it? 2012?”

She blushed. “It was a requirement for one of my graphics classes in college. I haven’t given it too much thought since. Mostly I keep it updated with new work for the occasional logo design client.”

“If I were you, I’d spend some time on it. You’re going to see more page hits. I guarantee it.”

He signed both copies of the contract of sale and handed one to her. “Nice to meet you, Rey. I’ll give you a call when it sells.”

From there she walked to the Resistance, stopping for a celebratory pie at one of her favorite bakeries to share with the rest of the crew since she officially ate all of the brownies she had packed in her bag. In just one month she had gone from amateur, hobbyist painter to having sold two paintings and having three others in two different galleries. She smiled, shifting her backpack on her shoulder. The watering can whacked the back of her thighs. A reminder that she was still surviving however necessary. Like she always had.

Maz’s calculator was out and she barely acknowledged Rey when she walked into the office. Chewie took a slice of chess pie and ate it quickly before taking a second. He updated Rey on the night’s keg rotation while she redid the chalkboard menu. This time she drew tall trees and a scattering of pine needles across the bottom. One of their new brews was a spiced cider she was excited to try. And they had a few dozen sample cans to evaluate before placing an order. Rey sorted through them, setting the IPAs to one side and putting a few of the other cans in her backpack.

With Paige behind the bar again and Chewie on the mend, the night went by smoothly. Some of their regulars came by to taste the new additions and ask how Chewie’s shoulder was doing. A rowdy group toasted a friend for passing the bar exam. A few couples on dates, talking with their heads close together and hands around pints.

Rey would have to prepare for her own date alone. Rose was on a train out of the city for her weekend away with Armitage. They’d met at Grand Central and he carried her bag for her. Soon they would be at their bed and breakfast, enjoying the wine Rose brought. She had been keeping Rey updated but her messages were less frequent as the night went on.

When she swept the floors at the end of the night, she wondered if Ben was nervous too. If he was keeping busy, counting down the night. They hadn’t talked much. He had texted her to confirm the time for tomorrow and that was that.

By the time she got home it was after 2am, but she showered, taking her time with the conditioner and shaving her legs. She put on some lotion and twisted her hair into a few buns around her head before tucking herself into her sheets.

She woke up nearly an hour before her alarm and after tossing and tangling the sheets for half an hour she went to the bodega around the corner for a coffee and a bagel. They had small watermelons out front, and she got one of those as well. It seemed ripe but she didn’t know the trick to it. Once, she saw a woman hold a watermelon up to her ear and knock on it, like a door. What she was listening for Rey never could figure out. She’d told Ben she would bring dessert for the picnic and Rose, bless her, had left a container of assorted baked goods with a note that said _Maybe you’ll take dessert to go as well —xoxo Rose_.

After breakfast she stood in her underwear in front of the closet. There wasn’t much, and there wasn’t much that wasn’t stained with beer or paint. Ben had a casual elegance in his simple yet clearly expensive sweater and jeans the night they met. If she could somehow replicate that with her various thrift store finds, maybe she wouldn’t feel so out of her element. It had been over a year since her last real date. Even longer since she had one with someone she was genuinely interested in and not just settling for in the hope that maybe she would feel something.

She took a deep breath and sighed through her nose. The tips of her fingers traced along the tops of the hangers, stopping on a deep purple silk top Rose had given her for her birthday one year. It brought out the green in her eyes, and was one of the nicest things she owned. Would it be too much? She slipped it from the hanger and pulled it over her head. It was cut like an oversized t shirt, and the neckline slid across her shoulders when she moved, revealing her collarbone. With some jeans (the nice ones, without the holes) and her ancient leather jacket it still felt like her. Just a slightly more polished version.

The buzzing in her chest kept her moving. She put on a little makeup, just enough to give her some confidence in the form of longer lashes and brighter eyes. When she pulled her hair down it had dried in soft waves. A trick Rose taught her in college. It smelled nice. That was good, considering the last time she saw him she was covered in stains and her hair was sweaty and frazzled. And then she’d eaten a hot dog with mustard.

Rose had a full length mirror in her room and Rey stood in front of it, turning at the waist to check out her entire figure. Making sure these jeans were really free of stains. The rich color of the shirt highlighted her hazel eyes and the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her long legs were toned from biking and climbing stairs at the bar, and the tight jeans showed them off. For the first time in a while, Rey felt like she looked as pretty as her friends told her she was. She sent a photo to Rose and Finn, who sent back heart eyes and flame emojis, respectively.

The subway was crowded. She stood as close to a door as she could without being in the way of other passengers. It was instinct to always be near the exit when she took the train. Today she gripped the poll tightly with one hand, legs shoulder width apart, her bag between her feet. Every few minutes she checked the time, her heartbeat faster than the second hand on her watch.

She had sliced the watermelon into cubes and tucked it in a reusable tote along with Rose’s baked goods. Then she added the beers she brought home from work and one of the old sheets she used as a drop cloth to be their picnic blanket. _Leave the rest to me_ , he’d told her.

The train screeched to a stop, knocking her out of her tumbling thoughts. She tried to put all of her insecurities in a box at the back of her mind, but as she tried to pick them all up they would slip through her grasp, slinking off into corners.

When she got to Washington Park and texted Ben, he was waiting for her with his own tote.

It was hard to miss him. The light breeze tussled his hair. He wore a fitted black sweater and black jeans again. His jacket rested atop the bag. Best of all, he was smiling at her.

And that made her feel lighter than she had since they parted ways a week ago.

She had to make herself walk at a normal pace, her own grin spreading across her cheeks. They stood a few paces apart and when neither said anything, they both laughed.

“Hi,” she said, taking another step closer.

“Hello.”

“Did you scope out the whole park for the best spot?”

“I’m always prepared,” he said, setting his things down.

“Being an intimidating size must have its advantages — there’s no one else around.”

Rey pulled the sheet from her bag and they spread it across the grass. Ben tossed his coat on one of the corners and pulled out various glass containers. She slipped a can of beer into a discrete cover and handed it to him.

By _Leave the rest to me_ , he apparently meant _let me flex my culinary skills in addition to my biceps_. Sandwiches wrapped in crisp white paper. Pasta salad with colorful vegetables sliced perfectly and topped with fresh herbs, portioned out into glass containers for each of them. There were even cloth napkins.

“Environmentally friendly and a menu worthy of _Bon Appetit_? If I knew we were showing off I would have…done nothing different. This is as good as I can do,” Rey spread her napkin across her lap, mimicking his manners.

Ben chuckled and mumbled something about it being not that big of a deal, really, just a couple sandwiches. But they were better than any deli Rey had tried, and she had tried hundreds. The bread was crusty but soft on the inside. There was some sort of lemony taste, perhaps a vinaigrette on the greens. Sharp cheddar and grainy mustard. She had to close her eyes at one point to suppress a satisfied moan.

They made small talk while they ate. Rey focused on each bite, careful to eat over her plate and wipe her mouth with her napkin.

“What were you like in high school?” She asked, the question spurred on by a group of teenagers who were playing music loudly and tossing popcorn at each other. They looked younger than Rey had ever felt as a teen. A bright joy in their eyes and an ease in their movements. When she was that age she was working in Plutt’s autoshop. Painting at school when she could. Working on her essays with Rian and learning what she could from him. Fixing broken radios and pulling old furniture out of the apartment’s dumpster to sell at the pawn shop for her get-the-hell-out fund.

He pondered for a moment, and she had learned that when he was deep in thought he pursed his lips slightly, and his brow furrowed. Eyes looking beyond what she could see.

“Difficult,” he said at last.

“Difficult how? Stealing cars difficult or pierced your eyebrow and got a tattoo difficult?”

“No piercings or car theft. But I got in minor trouble. I was angry all the time. Misunderstood teenage angst and all that goes with it. Fights at school. But mostly I wanted to rebel, I think.”

“Rebel at what?”

“My parents, mainly.” He picked at the grass on the edge of the blanket. “The legacy. Hard to go to public school with a famous name and these ears.” He joked but there wasn’t warmth in it. “I went to live with my uncle for a while but we didn’t really…get on. Different ideologies, I suppose.”

“Did he disapprove of your tattoos and mohawk? My vision of teenage Ben has a mohawk. Black and red stripes. At least six inches.”

“Oh it was bigger.”

She grinned and shook her head.

“My uncle thinks in black and white. I believe in shades of grey.”

“Except your clothes.”

Ben smirked at her, “I know what works for me and I stick to it.”

“Yes, Prince of Night suits you,” she teased. He was thoughtful for a moment, trailing his eyes across her face.

“I guess that makes you Empress of the Sun.”

She blushed. “I’m not sure about that. I’m more of a desert rat than royalty.”

He shook his head, gathering the wrappers from their sandwiches and putting them in his tote. “That’s not what I see.”

Rey didn’t want to linger on this, so she asked him more about his rebellious phase.

“It carried on for a while. Instead of fighting at school I argued with Luke at home and rode my bike all over town just to get some quiet. I did well despite my choices and applied to colleges like everyone else did.” He tidied while he talked, efficiently moving empty containers into his tote and opening the treats Rey brought. 

“I had a teacher who helped me in undergrad.”

“You mentioned that when we met. What were they like?”

Ben was quiet for a long moment. “Tough. But he taught me discipline and how to channel the anger I had. I needed a mentor like that. He showed me a different path than the one that was laid out for me.”

There was something tense in his jaw when he spoke. And before Rey could ask him anything else about it, he changed the subject back to her.

“How long have you been at the Resistance?”

“Hmmm… I started during my senior year, mostly just training on weekends and learning the menu. I guess that makes it about four years or so.” She drained the rest of her beer, a pumpkin ale Chewie was considering adding to the autumn rotation. It had a nice spice to it and was just a little sweet. Perfect with the salted caramel brownie she was devouring, crumbs scattered on the drop cloth.

“That makes you what — 26?”

“Soon. My birthday is—well, actually I don’t remember the official day. I just knew it was in November.”

“When do you celebrate it?”

Rey laughed a little. “You’ll love this. For a while I just waited until November was over and that was when I turned a new year. But then freshman year, I went to Rose’s house for Thanksgiving. We didn’t celebrate any holidays at my foster home so it never meant much to me. But the Tico family welcomed me at their table and the _food!_ It was the greatest thing I’d ever seen. Barely an inch of the table visible.”

“For someone with a daily snacking schedule I can see this being your idea of heaven.”

“Right you are, Benathan.” He laughed and shook his head. “I adopted that day as my birthday. A day I was happy and surrounded by love and delicious food.”

“So when is your birthday, Rey?”

“November 24th.”

“A great day for a birthday,” he said, and she smiled.

They talked about the new exhibit at the Met and where to get the best soup dumplings. She learned that Ben’s parents still lived in the city but had a house upstate that they escaped to often. Rey told him about the time she tried to make a Sunday roast for Rose and Finn and forgot to set a timer on the oven, resulting in a charcoal brick of meat and potatoes that resembled coals. He lived in the East Village, only a few blocks from the Resistance. Rey hated pigeons and any bird that seemed to flutter more than fly. The motorcycle was his dad’s. He only had a driver’s license so that he could get his motorcycle license. It had been nearly 15 years since he’d driven a car. She clung to her accent by watching a lot of PBS classics and the calls she had with Mashra, who mailed her prepaid long distance phone call cards until she died three years ago. They both liked black olives on pizza but Ben drew the line at pineapple.

Kids ran circles around them while people strolled leisurely through the park. There was a small drum circle across the path, as there always was in city parks, and a roasted peanuts vendor and someone handing out flyers for a comedy show. They were shaded beneath a tree. Their meals finished and half the beer, too.

Ben stretched his long legs out and leaned back on his forearm. Rey memorized how the light scattered through the leaves above them, casting shapes across his form. The way his brown eyes turned amber in the afternoon sun. Constellations of beauty marks across his face she longed to trace with her fingers.The raven waves of his hair shining to his collar. His features were exaggerated but there was no denying he was handsome. Like his father. But with his mother’s expressions.

Ben poked the watermelon with his fork, nudging it across his plate.

“It looks like a sponge. And the color just seems…unnatural. How genetically modified is this thing?”

“Oh my god you big baby just _try_ it! You’ll like it. I promise.”

“And if I don’t?”

“If you don’t you don’t have proper tastebuds. Might want to get that checked out.”

“Ah but you promised that I would like it. What will you give me if I eat this pink sponge pretending to be a fruit?”

Rey cast her eyes down, thinking, before drawing him back into her sight. Those brown eyes fixed on her.

“I want the last chocolate chip cookie,” he said, “I think it’s more than fair, Freckles.”

The nickname made her blush. With a flourish, Ben speared a piece of watermelon, popped it into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. First he scrunched his nose and lips in disgust, but it was short-lived. Rey watched him closely, and he smiled at her broadly. Crooked teeth and all.

She pushed herself up to her knees and reached for him, cupping his smooth jaw in her hands.

And she kissed him.

It was soft, with just the slightest pressure as he brought his own hand up along her back to rest at the nape of her neck. Holding her to him gently, stroking lightly with his thumb. Rey didn’t know who moved first, but their lips parted to share breath before meeting again. His lips cradled hers, pulling her closer and tasting her. Slow and savoring. They broke the kiss and Ben rested his forehead against hers.

“I still get that last cookie, right?”

She jerked back and gave his arm a playful smack. With an arm wrapped around her waist he chuckled and pulled her back to him, capturing her pout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Storm King](https://stormking.org/about/) is an outdoor art museum that features a lot of large-scale sculpture on beautiful grounds.
> 
> Rose’s dress is the more everyday version of [this KMT serve](https://www.imdb.com/name/nm4511652/mediaviewer/rm1620989184).
> 
> [Amilyn Holdo](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Amilyn_Holdo) is the lavender-haired goddess from _The Last Jedi_.
> 
> [Bodhi Rook](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Bodhi_Rook) is the pilot from _Rogue One_.
> 
> [K2SO](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/K-2SO) is a reprogrammed Imperial Droid from _Rogue One_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey has a visitor at work and something hidden comes to light. Later she meets an artist agent and receives an invitation to the glamorous world of art shows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter was a feel good first date. This chapter is a little bit angsty. But there's also a shopping montage to soothe the soul! All of the comments have warmed my heart. Thank you for reading.

It was a particularly slow Monday. The last day of September was dreary — trickles of rain had been falling since dawn and the sky hadn’t wavered from a pale grey. They’d seen a few customers early in the evening, but as the hours crept on Rey was increasingly bored. Maz had left early and sent Paige and Snap home as well. She dusted the high shelves and polished glasses. Chewie sat at the end of the bar, working through orders and keeping her company while she sketched out a new menu on the chalkboard. He moved up and down the stairs periodically to check on the kegs and cases, mumbling to himself.

A cool burst of air entered the space when the door opened and Rey looked up to find a slightly damp Ben shaking an umbrella outside.

After their picnic Rey had painted for ten hours, into the night and then again the next morning. A bright comet streaking across a vast expanse of darkness. It was one of the more vibrant spacescapes she had done, with its golden yellows and oranges and deep navy. When she finished she wished it was larger, and sent an email to Bodhi about the studio space he had mentioned on Friday.Now that she’d sold a few paintings, she had a little extra money to spend on her craft. And the thought of working with a larger canvas gave her the same butterflies that the man before her brought. Like great blue emperor butterflies.

“Long day?” she asked.

“I needed a drink,” Ben said, “and I thought if I was going to have a drink I wanted it to be with you.”

“Well a drink is much less work, so how about you start with that?”

Rey poured him a Red Squadron and after she slid it across the bar to him she contemplated for only a moment before pouring one for herself. They closed in two hours and hadn’t had a customer in at least that amount of time. She had been very close to asking Chewie to play a game of chess with the old set Maz had on a shelf in her office, but he was a sore loser at best and a cheat at worst.

“Hmm yes I’m beginning to learn that. I was always a dedicated student, though. Studied often and got good marks.”

“There will be a quiz at the end of the night.”

“Does it involve snacking habits and your unorthodox sleep schedule? Because I’ve been receiving excellent tutoring in both.”

“I may not have slept Saturday night but I’ll have you know, I slept for five whole hours last night.”

“A new record, I’m sure.”

“Only concurrently. If I had my midday nap I would have easily hit the physician suggested 8.”

“Why didn’t you sleep on Saturday? I would have thought you had enough snacks and sunshine to sleep peacefully.”

She liked this kind of verbal volleying — different from her easy conversations with her friends. It was quick, and there was a buzzing to it that excited her. The deep warmth of his voice and the cutting sharpness of his wit, but he also seemed to soften and melt as she met him line for line. It was a feeling she liked, softening the harder edges. Rey ran her finger down the condensation on her glass then brought her eyes up to his. There it was. It made her bolder, and she found that she liked being bold.

“Burst of creative inspiration. All that watermelon. I kept remembering how it felt on my lips.”

They clinked their glasses, eyes locked, until mid-sip when Ben winked at her and she choked a laugh.

Chewie popped out of the hatch, pulling himself up with his uninjured arm. “You okay — hey, kid! What are you doing here you big brooder? Is that a smile?”

The large, bearded man came around the bar and pulled Ben into a rib-squeezing hug. The younger man gave him a pat on the back, which only encouraged Chewie to ruffle his hair. The left side puffed out at an extreme angle and Ben hastily combed it with his fingers.

“We missed you at dinner on Sunday. Thought your mom said you were traveling.”

Rey tried to piece that information together and missed whatever Ben said in response. Chewie tossed his pen on the bar and the sound called her attention back.

“How do you know my Godson?” Chewie asked.

“Godson?” Rey turned to Ben. “You two—you know each other?”

“Know him? I was there when he was born,” Chewie huffed. “Not much left to know about a person when you’ve seen them as a squirming, red faced little baby. And the screaming, _hooo._ ” He pulled out a battered brown wallet, a line of worn duct tape keeping it together down the middle. Rey made a mental note to get him a new one for his birthday. From its depths he revealed a small photograph of a younger Chewie and a chubby-cheeked toddler on his shoulders, pulling his long, Fleetwood Mac hair like a horse’s reins. They were both laughing, eyes closed. Rey longed to tuck it into her pocket but she slid it back to Chewie.

Ben’s cheeks pinked.

“Yeah, Chewie and my dad are—”

“Like brothers, Han and me. Met him back when I was working construction. We were both hired to renovate this—”

“Fancy director guy’s house,” Ben mouthed behind Chewie, smirking at Rey. She didn’t smile back.

“Turns out the director liked Han’s charm so much he cast him in his next picture.”

Rey knew this story. It was how Han Solo was cast in _Galaxy Wars_ , an unknown carpenter turned heartthrob. She’d read about it in her faded book and seen him recount the events on old talk show clips. Surly in his older years but the twinkle in his eye was still there. She tuned it out, instead focusing her attention on the ticks of Ben’s face. The way he blushed under her gaze, the slight quiver beneath his eye. Her own face impassive.

“Anyway,” Chewie stretched, his long arms nearly grazing the ceiling, “how do _you_ know each other?”

“Ben happened to be here the night you were in the ER. Helped me out during the rush.”

“That’s my boy — I taught him how to pour a few years back when Han finally dragged him in. And his mother always had him help set the table and clean up after dinner. Do you remember when we were in London, Leia was in—what was the play? She was a nun—”

“Agnes of God,” Ben answered. She had never heard of it.

They talked for a little while but Rey was distracted and mostly let the two of them catch up.There wasn’t any real work left to do before closing, so she busied herself with rearranging the bottles fridge so that all of the labels faced forward while they made small talk, her own answers clipped. After Chewie left Rey had a hard time pretending like everything was normal.

“Rey.”

“What?”

“You’re upset.”

“I’m not upset I’m working.”

“You’re avoiding me because you’re upset.”

“I’m not—” she ran a hand over her head, smoothing her hair in its bun. When she turned to look at him, he was watching her with a concerned brow. Dark eyes on her face. She went back to the fridge, wiping the inside of the door and then the handle. “I’m trying to close. There are things I have to do, I can’t just chat with you because you decided to show up during my shift.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

She stood and grabbed his empty glass, mopping the counter beneath it. Taking it to the other end of the bar where the dish bin was. There was only his glass and hers, so she couldn’t run them through the dishwasher downstairs — it had to be full. She left them.

“Rey, can you just tell me what’s bothering you?”

The cloth in her hand twisted into a tight coil. She tossed it in the dirty bin and took a breath.

“You didn’t think it was worth mentioning that you’d not only been here before but you’re practically _family_ with the bar manager? And you probably know Maz as well. Wouldn’t surprise me if she has a picture holding cuddly baby Ben Solo up in her office.”

“I do know Maz—”

Rey scoffed and crossed her arms, leaning against the cool taps.

He kept talking before she could interrupt. “But I haven’t been here much in the last few years. When my parents—I didn’t talk to my parents for a long time. The first time I saw my dad we came here for an awkward beer. And for a while it became our place but that was five years ago. Before the other night I’d only been here one time when you were working. It was the first time I came in in years. I had a beer and I left. That’s all.”

He leaned a little across the bar, as little as a man of his size could lean. With his hands loosely clasped on top of the wood. Rey kept her own arms crossed as she contemplated his excuses.

“That’s not what I asked, Ben. I asked why you didn’t tell me.”

Ben breathed through his nose, a sharp exhale. “It didn’t come up, I guess.”

She blinked at him. “Seems to me like something that would naturally come up considering he’s my boss and I mentioned him the night you just so happened to come in when I was drowning.”

“I just stopped in on my way home. It wasn’t planned…You needed help and I couldn’t just leave.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just couldn’t.”

They were both quiet. Rey kept her eyes on the floor and chewed the corner of her lip. There was a cracked tile on the edge of the floor. A chunk of porcelain missing. She nudged it with her shoe. Maybe he was just kind and accommodating, the things she had thought that night when she couldn’t bring herself to tell him she would be fine without his help.

“I should have told you, you’re right. You’re absolutely right to be upset. I don’t know why I didn’t. It just…didn’t seem important at the time. But I know now that it is and I’m sorry, Rey.”

Rey looked at him and the open vulnerability on his face and nodded. “Just…tell me. Next time. Even when you think something isn’t important. Especially then.”

He nodded, glancing down at his hands. Knuckles clenching and unclenching. He nodded again and met her eyes. “Okay.”

She took a deep breath. “My friends and I try to be honest about how we’re feeling. It’s harder for me than it is for Rose. She just comes home and starts right in on what’s bothering her at work or how the guy she’s seeing makes her feel. And Finn is an open book. But it takes me longer, I suppose. The need to protect first on instinct.”

“That makes sense, given all that you’ve been through. It would make anyone guarded.”

“I didn’t mean to snap at you but I don’t want you to hide things from me. Something feels different with you. Like I can trust you just as much as them. I don’t want to be wrong about that.”

His dark eyes flickered across her face and he swallowed. “Okay.”

“I just have to close everything down and then I can lock up. Will you stay?”

“As long as you’ll have me.”

* * *

Kaydel Connix wrote confidently and with many, many adjectives. Rey was surprised to find an email from an agent in her inbox and even more surprised when she looked up Connix’s roster of clients. _I’m an artist agent and art consultant, which is just fancy titles. Mainly I’m a cheerleader for artists (like you!) and I help rich people buy art for their summer houses and corporate offices to make them seem cultured even though they have no taste._ Bodhi had mentioned Rey, the email said, and she wanted to take her on as a client. It only took her five minutes to respond with an enthusiastic yes.

And now Rey was meeting her for coffee to discuss a small art show happening that weekend at K2SO.

“I know it’s a little short notice but we’ll want to feature two of your pieces. Bodhi showed me the comet you just did and I am _obsessed_. Please tell me that hasn’t sold yet, I have this client — he’s flamboyant so he loves anything vibrant and I think he would definitely be interested. The man wore a gold sequin caftan to his 70th birthday party last year so like, he’s going to need a sparkling comet for one of his galleries. Probably the villa on Lake Cuomo.”

Kaydel talked a lot but Rey found that she liked to listen to her candor. It was refreshing and almost like learning another language — the language of galas and events and status and personal galleries. Things she hadn’t thought much of in her near 26 years of life. She just wanted to sell a painting or two. This was more than she’d dreamed of, tucked away in the back of her closet at Plutt’s house sketching on paper from the recycling bins at school. But she was starting to feel like it was okay to want this, too. If her sales kept up, she could even slow down on her side hustles.

They sat at a table outside even though it was early October and the air had chilled. A mug of chai warmed Rey’s hands. The comforting spices curled through her. 

“Anyway. I’d like the comet, and one of the brighter succulents for this event. Not one of the purple ones though I do adore them but one of the warmer toned ones, something to complement. Here, I took a screenshot from your website.” Kaydel flipped through the photos on her phone with agility and speed. Rey wondered what her Tetris high score was. “This one! It’ll pair perfectly and Ted will adore it.”

“Okay that sounds fine. So I’ve never actually been to an art show and—”

“You’ll be great! Just wear something cool—”

“Kaydel,” Rey said, and the other woman paused and smiled. “I’m a little overwhelmed, if I’m honest.”

“Sorry, I get really excited and can’t stop. Let me set the scene and you can ask me questions.” She cleared her throat dramatically and winked at Rey. “The show will be small. Like I said, it’s at K2SO. Bodhi will be there, and you know he’s charming. I don’t think Amilyn will be able to make it, she’s been in Mexico City all week but I’ll be there and a few other consultants who don’t bite. There will be other artists and a few buyers but most will sell through consultants like me.”

Rey nodded, unsure of what to say.

“You should invite your friends! Having friendly faces around will put you at ease. And honestly, the art world is more laid back than film. People like it when the artist is mysterious so most buyers will barely acknowledge you, I promise. You can meet some of the other artists we work with and sit in the corner with them. That’s what tends to happen.”

Rey nodded again and looked into her mug, with its pattern of cinnamon dusting the top. “You said wear something cool? I can’t just show up in my coveralls?”

“That would definitely be a look and I would support you.”

“Well, thanks,” Rey chuckled. Kaydel looked like a young starlet in a tabloid, casually stepping out for a green smoothie in an outfit that said _I just threw this on but I look better than you ever will_. An effortless style that was hard to replicate, though many of the patrons at the Resistance certainly tried. “What do you think I should wear?”

“If I had your legs? Oh, this will be fun!”

Kaydel spent the next half hour sending Rey links to dresses and jumpsuits and designer clothes she couldn’t afford. They talked about styling and the different types of events Rey might attend now that her work was visible. She’d need to make a trip to her favorite consignment shops around the city, it seemed. And Rose would have helpful thoughts. Maybe it was time to have her hair cut by a professional instead of just trimming the dead ends off over the bathroom sink.

Later, when she had made it back home, she peeked through her closet for something that said hip, mysterious artist and came up empty. She scrolled through the links from Kaydel and made some notes about what she liked — a jumpsuit seemed comfortable — and what she didn’t — short dresses meant she would fidget all night — and what stores might have similar styles without the Gucci price tag. Could she get away with not wearing heels?

“Rey? You home?”

“In here!”

Rose peeled her coat off and hung it on the coat rack in the living room. The door was open to Rey’s room so she came in, handing her a paper bag.

“How did you know I was craving these?” Buffalo tater tots from the food truck that parked outside of their subway station. They were still warm, and Rose had even gotten cheese sauce on the side. Rey’s favorite.

“You’re _always_ craving them and I couldn’t help myself when I walked by the truck. I already ate mine.”

Rey told her about the meeting with Kaydel and her worry about finding something suitable to wear. As soon as she mentioned shopping Rose had stood, taking the wrappings of their snack.

“Up! Up! Let’s go! Get some shoes on. And a coat! We’re going to Solarine. They close at 9 so we have time.” She threw her coat back on and tossed Rey her leather jacket, and then one boot and then the other. “Are you ready yet?”

Rey was just in the process of tugging a boot on when she glared up at Rose. “It’s been two whole seconds — I’m not about to take the M with only one shoe. I need all of my toes.”

“I’m too excited! We haven’t been shopping in ages and…and I know I’ve been busy with Armitage lately and we haven’t spent as much time together.” Rose tugged on her sleeves.

“Don’t you fret about that, you’ve been so happy and that makes _me_ happy,” Rey stood and pulled Rose into a squeezing hug. “Just because you’re spending your nights at his fancy flat doesn’t mean I feel neglected. I still get my daily barrage of memes and photos of dogs you pass on the street.”

“Well I am never too busy for that,” Rose agreed. “I want to know all about all the things you’ve been up to lately.”

They caught up on the walk to the train and continued on the ride into Manhattan. Rey almost left out her fight with Ben from earlier in the week, but she didn’t like to hide things from Rose if she could help it. That was their rule. 

“I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt,” Rose said. The doors opened and a new surge of people crowded onto the train at Delancy. “I think he was probably nervous! And didn’t want to make it seem like he had been watching you from afar or something. I mean he kind of did watch you from afar? But in a cute way!”

Rey laughed. “He said he had only seen me there once before, and I don’t even remember him being there and he’s—well, I would have noticed him.”

“Then I think you were right to forgive him easily — those were your words. Sometimes we misjudge what’s important in the moment. Especially with people we like. Have you told him about your art?”

“A little. He knows that I paint but I haven’t mentioned the sales or anything. I don’t know, it seemed like if I talked about it it wouldn’t be as real. It’s stupid.”

“That’s something you should be proud of, Rey. I’m sure he would want to know and support you. Maybe you can invite him to the show on Saturday.”

The train screeched to a halt and they pushed their way off, holding hands so they didn’t lose each other in the crowds. Once they had made the slow, agonizing climb up to the street, Rey dropped her grip.

“Rose, are you suggesting this so that you and Finn can interrogate the poor man while I go schmooze with the curators?”

“Yes but only because that’s what I do best. I promise I won’t bite him.”

Rey sighed and walked ahead, her long legs carrying her faster than Rose’s could keep up. They made their way to Solarine, which was particularly busy for a Thursday night. Val was occupied with a small line of customers but still greeted them with a bright smile.

Rose immediately dove into the racks, pulling dresses at an alarming speed. Rey preferred to take her time, feeling the fabrics and seeing the colors in different lights. She tended to gravitate towards neutrals, whereas Rose loved bright colors and patterns. Perhaps that was the artist in her — preferring a blank canvas for herself and a wash of colors on those around her.

Her fingers stilled on a dark grey long sleeve, the material soft silk. It was a jumpsuit, and she definitely thought it lived up to Kaydel’s definition of cool. Though the material was fine, it had a feeling of structure and power to it. The waist was trim with pleated darts to accentuate. The neckline slashed across the top and the pant legs straight with tuxedo trim.

“Oh, that’s it,” Rose said from behind her, her arms laden with a rainbow of satin and brocade and glittery spandex. “Try that one on immediately.”

It was the only thing she tried, and the only semi-formal thing she ever wanted to wear again. The fabric felt like wearing fancy pajamas and yet somehow she saw a serious painter reflected in the mirror.

It fit her perfectly, the hem of the pants grazing the floor when she stood on her tiptoes. The neckline was high, but showed off her collar bones, and the back had a subtle draping she didn’t notice on the hanger. The long sleeves gave it a level of sophistication. She turned from side to side, and took her hair down. Letting the uneven waves from her bun fall around her face. She called to Rose, who let herself in.

“Wow. Rey.”

She blushed. Rose was rarely robbed of speech, but she stood with a hand on her chest, the zipper to her sequined, peacock blue mini dress half up.

“Do you think I look like a mystical yet chic yet cool artist and whatever other adjectives my agent said I should look like?”

“Honey, you look like all that and more — and still like you. It’s almost a fancy version of your painting outfit and I mean that in a good way.”

Rey tilted her head in the mirror and saw exactly what Rose meant. She was still her, just a little bit polished.

“Time for you to get yourself a date,” Rose wiggled her eyebrows in the mirror and shut the curtain on her way out.

Val fawned over Rose’s blue dress and Rey’s jumpsuit, declaring them exactly what she would have recommended had she had the time to personally shop with them like she normally did. They had been coming here since college, when they lived in one of the Chinatown dorms and could walk straight from class. It was the best vintage shop in the city, gloriously untouched by time. And greedy consignment resellers.

“I want to see pictures, darlings! Come visit soon I’ve missed you both.”

Rey composed a text to Ben over the next hour. Rose chattered away their whole ride home and Rey responded when appropriate though her thoughts were elsewhere. Showing him her art was a vulnerability she wasn’t sure she was ready for. What if he didn’t like it? What if he didn’t _get_ art and thought empty whiskey bottles on top of the cabinets counted as decor, like some frat boy? No, he had too fancy clothes and he cared about his motorcycle and his hair too much for that. What if he did like her paintings? How would she know if she never showed him?

_I know it’s only two days away but I’m being featured in an art show in TriBeCa on Saturday. It’s my first one actually. I’ve only sold a few paintings. My friends will be there and I’ll have to do a lot of networking but it would be great if—_

She deleted.

_If you can make it I’d be so happy—_

She deleted.

_Would you like to come?_

She deleted the entire message and set her phone down in her room. Instead, she made herself a late snack plate dinner of chopped tomatoes, some cheese, and a piece of naan from the Indian food Rose brought home the day before. Some ice cream at the end of the meal to round it out. It crept towards midnight, and she whispered, “This is ridiculous” to herself and grabbed her phone from the nightstand.

_Remember how I told you I paint?_

He replied yes.

_I’m being featured in an art show in TriBeCa on Saturday. Would you like to come?_

He asked for the details and she sent them.

 _Some of my friends will be there_.

She got herself ready for bed and smiled at his reply.

_Great. I’d love to meet them._

The next day she went through her plant watering route and texted with Ben in between locations and floors. At the end of her route, as she was watering the dracaena at the doors of Snalps Ventures, she took a cheeky selfie and sent it to him. Flashing a peace sign and holding her watering can like a prize. The security cameras definitely saw.

In the few hours she had before her shift at the Resistance she started a new painting, one that she didn’t quite know what it was going to be yet. There were broader brush strokes than she usually worked with, and after about an hour she decided to come back to it another time.

She pulled her new jumpsuit from the closet just to admire it, then placed it back neatly between the only two dresses she owned. Tonight she would wear her jeans and a faded Arctic Monkeys t-shirt that had a bleach stain on the bottom and her hair would be a little bit greasy. Tomorrow she would curl her hair and put on lipstick and talk to people who were interested in buying her art. And she would still be Rey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/xDarkoftheMoon)!
> 
> A few notes...
> 
> [Agnes of God](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Agnes_of_God) is a play Carrie Fisher was in on Broadway for a time. It sounds incredible.
> 
> [Kaydel Connix](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Kaydel_Ko_Connix) is played by Billie Lourd, Carrie Fisher's daughter, in the sequel trilogy. I adore her and if you haven't read [this essay](https://time.com/5720323/billie-lourd-princess-leia-essay-carrie-fisher/) she wrote, I recommend it for a good cry.
> 
> [Solarine](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Solarine) is the planet where Val is from. [Val](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Val) is a character in _Solo_ , which I adore. Hashtag make Solo 2 Happen etc etc.
> 
> As Rose and Rey’s outfits are vintage, they’re harder to place but I picture something like [this](https://shopgreylin.com/products/reagan-tuxedo-jumpsuit) for Rey but silk and with longer pants and [this](https://www.etsy.com/listing/495352964/60s-sequin-dress-electric-blue-1960s) for Rose. Rey’s jumpsuit is the fancy version of her painter’s coveralls, which look like [this](https://www.dickies.com/coveralls-overalls/deluxe-blended-long-sleeve-coveralls/48799GY++L++S.html?cm_mmc=google-_-PLA-_-men-coveralls-overalls-_-48799&cm_mmc=google-_-PLA-_-CatchAll-_-null&gclid=CjwKCAjw_LL2BRAkEiwAv2Y3STQuExy0rZ4YXI5Hi0q-_9qnx__sD16g0LCI-6oVZlM1yhHjYXyy2hoCjOkQAvD_BwE) only worn to death.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey attends her first art show and amid the glamour and the attention is a small, buzzing fear beneath her skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a content warning for this chapter. Please see the end notes.
> 
> I truly love and cherish every comment and kudos. Thank you for reading 🖤
> 
> *knows there's a cliffhanger. drops chapter. runs away.*

Rose pulled on a tendril of Rey’s hair, loosening the curl. They’d decided on old Hollywood glamour meets downtown punk. Hair in loose, soft waves slicked back on one side with a very spiky and dangerous looking barrette that Rose wore for Halloween one year. She painted Rey’s lips a dusty rose shade and made a dramatic cat’s eye with a sharp, architectural tail. A slight contour to her cheekbones and layers of mascara.

When Rey stood and looked in the mirror in Rose’s room, she felt powerful. It was like someone, and that someone being Rose, put a filter called, “I will step on your neck” on Rey. And she liked it. Her spine straightened and she held her head a little higher. There was power in this, and she needed the confidence for more than just the show.

Rose styled her own hair in a long, sleek ponytail down her back. Her dark hair shiny and smooth. The peacock blue mini dress hug every curve and her own makeup was dramatic — eyeshadow blended out in deep shades of purple, soft pink cheeks and a berry lip stain. Together they looked like they were attending a glam rock-themed Met Gala.

Earlier that day Rey had lugged kegs and cases of Oktoberfest brews, stubbed her toe on the corner of the bar, and spent an hour with Maz workshopping her emails with the building’s buyer that ended with Maz surrendering all communications with an assistant to Rey. Now she was wearing a fancy outfit and lipstick and the only pair of heels she owned, sitting in the back of an SUV with Rose. She contained multitudes or whatever.

Their ride share brought them across the bridge and into Manhattan. The lights of the city sparkling. It wasn’t often that Rey rode in a car — she could rarely justify the expense when she had the subway and a bike share subscription and two working legs — but she didn’t mind sitting in traffic when it meant she could admire the place she’d lived in for nearly eight years from a new angle.

The main gallery at K2SO was full of people drinking champagne and nibbling on appetizers, casually stepping from painting to painting. Rey took a breath and glimpsed one of her own paintings through the window. Rose gave her arm a small squeeze before they headed inside.

“Well hot damn,” Kaydel said, saddling up to Rey and Rose. “I knew you’d look amazing but this—” she gestured up and down “—You look more like someone I’d consult for than a poor artist client.”

Rey felt her face warm. Kaydel looked incredible in a sharp, black suit with a printed shirt. It had red lipstick tubes on it, and she paired it with bright red heels and red lips. Her blonde hair in a tight ballerina bun at the very top of her head. On anyone else it might have been severe, but her smile was radiant.

“I told you you’d rock a jumpsuit with those legs,” she said, slipping her arm through Rey’s and extending her other hand to Rose. “Hi there, I’m Rey’s agent, Kaydel Connix. You are stunning and if I weren’t happily coupled I would be hitting on you even more overtly than I am right now.” She immediately began talking Rose’s ear off and asking her questions. Rey smiled to herself, content that her little world could fit into this new, bigger one.

Bodhi waved at her from across the room. He was speaking with a small group and nodding with wide eyes. Finn and Poe would arrive as soon as Poe was finished work. When she’d texted Ben earlier he’d said he would be there a little late but that he couldn’t wait to see her. The majority of the room was artists, Kaydel told them.

“The Holdo Group likes to start the night with a more subdued vibe. Artists talking art without the lingering buyer in the corner. Most will arrive by 8, so for now you should enjoy yourselves! I need to drink some more champagne before I have to talk business.”

Rose clutched Rey to her side and giggled. “Look at how cool this is! My cheeks hurt from how happy I am for you. Can we go see your wall?”

A passing waiter offered them crystal glasses of sparkling wine.

“It’s not — I just have two pieces,” Rey took a small sip of champagne and glanced around the room. “Some of these other artists have been showing here for years.”

“Can you please develop the tiniest bit of an ego so that I can adequately praise you in public? None of this _oh, no, not me_ nonsense.”

Rey laughed. “I can try but no promises.” She took Rose’s elbow and steered her to a section of the far wall where her paintings hung. The large, colorful comet with a sleek curator’s note beside it.

**Rey Johnson**

**FLASHBURN**

**Acrylic on canvas, 2019**

There was a small sticker attached to it. _Sale Pending_. On the next panel was one of her succulent pieces. Another _Sale Pending_ sticker.

“Okay, _now_ can you have an ego?” Rose asked, squeezing Rey’s arm. “Gosh, they look even more beautiful here.”

“It’s just the lighting,” Rey grumbled. “Anything looks better in good lighting.”

“Yes, but especially someone who is already beautiful. Like me.”

“Shut it, Dameron, we all know you won most handsome in high school.” Rey turned to greet Finn and Poe, who flashed her a grin.

“And best smile. And best hair.”

“The three reasons I stay with you, even though you’re insufferable.” Finn put his arm around Poe and kissed his temple. “Rey, this is incredible.”

“It is, isn’t it?” She said, softly taking it all in. Her eyes snagged on the door as it opened and let in a few people. It seemed rude to pull out her phone to check but she wondered if Ben was on his way.

“Do you know who the sale pending is?” Finn asked, pointing at her wall.

She shook her head. “I can ask but—”

As she turned to find Kaydel, the very woman marched towards her and clutched her hands. “Rey, darling, I want to introduce you. Can I borrow the artist for a moment?” She said to Rey’s friends, who all gave their permission with various nods and smiles. Kaydel’s stilettos clacked on the white floor and she led them to the far corner. “Rey Johnson, this is Baze Malbus and Chirrut Îmwe.”

Base was an imposing man, with long, braided dark hair and a greying beard. There was a certain militaristic feel to the way he carried himself and kept a protective hand at Chirrut’s back. The latter man was slim and carried an ornate walking staff, his eyes cloudy.

“I’m so thrilled to meet you both,” she said, “I actually — your gallery was the first to request my work.”

“I believe we sold three quite quickly,” Chirrut replied. “It has been hard to keep them for long.”

“Rey is hard at work on more,” Kaydel pressed a hand to her shoulder blades, urging her on.

“Oh, yes, I’ve been painting often. I do hope you like what you see—” she caught herself, and glanced up to find Chirrut smiling warmly.

“Art doesn’t always need to be seen with one’s eyes to be felt. I am lucky to have a partner who can describe it to me in a way that paints it in my mind and that is all I need to feel.”

“He can’t stop asking me to describe this painting of yours,” Base pointed down the walls to the comet. “I think we’re going to end up in a bit of a battle for it.”

“What do you mean? I thought it was pending?”

“It’s pending because I bought it for Chirrut only for one of Kaydel’s clients to offer more for it. And now we will strike fast and hard before they reach a number we can’t match.”

“My dear, I will survive without it if someone pays Miss Johnson what she deserves for such a work,” Chirrut gripped Baze’s elbow and squeezed.

“It would be my honor to paint something for you,” Rey said to them. “Anything you like.”

“Oh, yes, do let Rey paint something brilliant and we’ll see how much our eager buyer is willing to spend to outbid you two! I like this plan.” Kaydel smiled broadly and grabbed two fresh glasses of champagne for herself and for Rey.

“I’ll coordinate with Kaydel and have something for you soon,” Rey said.

“The honor would be on us, to have your work for our home. Thank you, Miss Johnson,” Chirrut said, reaching his hand out to clasp hers. She squeezed his fingers back.

“Just Rey, please.”

They talked for a while about their favorite artists and the best museums. Which cities housed their favorite galleries and artist communities. Bodhi joined them briefly before he and Kaydel were called away to handle something with the caterers. Rey enjoyed a few more moments with Baze and Chirrut before they left for the evening. It was probably getting late, and she craned her neck to see if Ben had made it. He was probably spotted instantly by Rose and was in the process of being interrogated. There was no way she’d miss out on watching her tiny, stubborn best friend drill her well over six foot whatever he was to her.

She placed her empty glass on a passing tray and, after taking a few mini quiches from another, she found her friends laughing over glasses of champagne. Just as she left them. Just the three of them.

“There she is!” Finn called out, moving to pull her close to his side. “The artist herself!”

“Are you really drunk off of, what, three glasses of champagne?” Rey asked as he jostled her.

“I may be a lightweight but at least I know my limits, unlike Rosie over here—”

“I am _not_ drunk, thank you very much.” Rose sipped delicately from her glass. “You don ’t guzzle bubbles this fancy, you savor it.”

“Rey, do you think your agent could sneak us a few bottles to take home—”

“No no, Mr. Storm. You have to coach tomorrow and I need my beauty rest. I’m not about to be up all night holding you while you expel, what, a hundred dollars’ worth of champagne into a porcelain bowl. No sir, it’s water for you.” Poe gripped a hand around his shoulder and leaned his head against Finn’s temple.

“I’ll have you know I haven’t vomited since senior year of college,” Finn said, pulling away slightly.

“Then what was that last summer when we went to Atlantic City?” Rey asked, blinking her lashes at him. “I seem to remember an incident—”

“It was the shrimp!”

“That we all ate and yet no one else puked up several hours and several tequila slammers later. How interesting.”

“Can we please stop talking about this, it’s indecent and we are at a _fancy_ party with millionaires present.” Finn slipped an arm across Poe’s lower back and smiled. He was often the target of group teasing, if only because he took everything with good humor.

“Hey, where’s Ben? Have you heard from him?” Rose asked.

Rey pulled her phone from her pocket. No new messages. It was after nine.

“Must be stuck on the train,” she said, then pulled up the MTA alerts. All clear.

“Just ask when he’ll be here so we know to sober up a little bit beforehand. I don’t want to make a bad first impression here.” Finn took a glass of water from a table and gulped it down, then took a second and sipped at it.

Rey sent a quick “ETA?” text and put her phone away. They wandered around the gallery together, taking a closer look at the paintings and sculptures. In one of the small side rooms there was a multimedia installation by Chirrut that moved Rey in a way that she hadn’t felt before. There was a sense of quiet power to the work, focus and determination. Poe didn’t get it but thought the music “sounded nice” and soon they had circled around to the most famous piece in the gallery.

It was a sculpture reminiscent of Bernini — two figures intertwined, with the indents of fingers on soft flesh visible in the hard materials. Where it differed was that Bernini was a sculptor and Ahsoka Tano combined sculpture with ceramics and found objects and light and shadow. So where Bernini stopped at a couple embracing, Tano continued the story with what functioned as a set and props with lighting and screens. Rey explained this to her friends, perhaps going a bit overboard on all the references, when Kaydel interrupted them.

“I can see if we can schedule a meeting with her, if you’d like.”

Rey blinked at her. “A meeting? With…” she vaguely gestured at the work behind her.

“You’ll have to excuse Rey, she practically worships this person,” Rose said, then turned to Finn. “How many times did she drag us to the MoMa to see that sculpture—”

“It was a mixed media display—”

“Uh-huh, to see that sculpture that was part of their Angels & Devils exhibit? The one with the red and black and all the horns—”

“I lost count,” Finn said. Rey could feel herself blush.

“She’s—I’m a big fan of her work,” she said.

“I think she’s mainly in London these days but I’ll see what I can work out with her agent.” Kaydel said, taking her phone out of her jacket pocket and tapping into it. “Last I heard she was commissioned for the Serreno Gala at the end of the year, so she should be in town before then. I’ll email you once I’ve heard back.”

It took several minutes for Rey to calm the screaming voice inside of her head at the thought of meeting an artist of that caliber. _Take a breath_ , her mind said. It was shaky but she did it.

“Kaydel, thank you—”

“Sorry I’m late,” a voice called from behind them.

But it wasn’t the voice Rey had hoped to hear.

Armitage Hux leaned his slight frame down to give Rose a chaste kiss on the cheek that left her cheeks pink and her lips in a pretty smile.

“Rey, congratulations,” he said with a nod.

“Thanks, Hux,” she replied. “I appreciate you coming. Did you have any trouble with the trains tonight?”

“No more than the average day. Didn’t you two take a cab in?”

“We did, but Rey’s waiting for someone and he’s late,” Rose said, turning him towards the trays of food and champagne.

“Maybe he got held up, then. Or he’s on a different line that’s stuck. Getting anywhere in a cab this time of night is dreadful. I’m sure he’ll arrive soon.”

Rey smiled and nodded, sipping from her near-empty glass. Her hand held her phone in her pocket, squeezing the sides as if that would make a text come through.

For a while they all chatted and enjoyed the delicious finger foods that drifted throughout the crowd. Rey held her glass with both hands, focusing on the light clinking sounds her short nails made against it. Listening more than talking.

“So Hugs,” Poe said, clapping a hand on the taller man’s shoulder. “What kind of legal work do you do?”

“At the moment I work for a firm that specializes in contract law and intellectual property—”

“What type of clientele?” Poe was always very direct, racing to the answers he needed without much thought for decorum.

“As I’m sure you know I can’t name names—”

“Obviously.”

Hux turned a bit red. “I am mainly working with a somewhat high profile person in the business sector on a particularly questionable clause in their contract. It’s a tricky situation, as their superiors wield a lot of power, but I’m confident that the law is on our side and that we can sort it out without needing to bring it to court. If—When we win, it will help my own status at the firm in addition to allowing my client the freedom to pursue other works.”

“I work with lawyers occasionally through the Alliance. Have you ever considered taking on non-profit work? Might help elevate your standing if you have some good deeds under your belt.”

While they talked legal logistics in the non-profit sphere, Finn, Rey, and Rose chased down more food and water glasses. Rose and Finn both got extra snacks for their boyfriends and Rey softly grazed her cell phone in her pocket. It was warm from her body heat but hadn’t buzzed with notifications all night.

When they returned, Poe and Armitage seemed to be talking very seriously, heads close together, but then Poe slapped his thigh and burst into a fit of giggles. They tapped their glasses and kept their merriment.

Hux laughed like it was unfamiliar territory — quick, with a swallow afterwards to force it back down. Glancing over to Rose with a genuine smile.

When they’d first met Rey wasn’t so sure about him. There was the slight sneer to his features when his face rested and the primness in his clothing and set of his shoulders. The haughty way he phrased even the simplest of statements. In high school he might have been a sniveling, know-it-all jerk for all she knew.

But after spending time with Armitage in their little group, she noticed that he was more awkward than snobbish, and his smile was kind. Above all, she knew without needing to be told that he adored her best friend.

It was in the gentle way he held her clutch so that she could eat a few goat cheese tarts without having to balance her bag and a napkin and glass. How he’d asked her to show him around the gallery when he first arrived, eagerly listening to her paraphrasing of what Rey and Kaydel had told them about the artists featured. The softness of his gaze as it followed Rose across the room — he’d walk through fire for her.

And that was all Rey needed to know.

The night went on. The crowd dwindled. And still Ben hadn’t contacted her. Finn and Poe left, promising to see them all for drinks at the Resistance on Monday night. Armitage kissed Rose goodbye before hailing a cab uptown. And Rose knew enough about Rey to be quiet during their own ride back to Brooklyn.

It was near midnight when they got home. Rose put the kettle on and started asking Rey about everything that wasn’t Ben Solo related. She answered in clipped sentences until Rose finally brought him up.

“Rey, maybe something happened,” she ventured. “He said he would be there late, maybe he got held up somehow or left his phone at the office and—”

“Rosie, I don’t want to talk about it. There’s no point.”

“Of course there’s a point, you’re clearly hurt and upset—”

“I am upset and you’re only making it worse by defending someone who doesn’t need defending. Clearly he’s just an asshole and I’m an idiot—”

“You’re not—”

“I said I don’t want to talk about this. Thank you for the tea, I think I’m going to turn in.”

Even though Rose was only trying to help, she couldn’t be around her right now. There was no excuse or explanation, not when cell phones existed. Not when he’d promised he would be there. She shut her door and put her teacup on the nightstand, spilling a little peppermint tea on the scuffed wood.

Before she could think better of it, she was typing. She didn’t censor herself like she normally would have. Perhaps because of the additional glasses of champagne or from snapping at Rose when it was the last thing she wanted to do. She didn’t worry about how long it was or if it was rambling. All she wanted was for him to understand. To feel even a fraction of what she felt.

_You know, it was surreal to see my work in a gallery, surrounded by other artists and people in the industry. Alongside people I studied in school and went to see at exhibits. It felt better than I could have dreamed it would. But then the night went on and you still weren’t there. And it was obvious you weren’t coming. It hurt, Ben. My friends kept asking me where you were and if you’d be there soon. I kept waiting to hear from you. A text saying you were stuck on the platform waiting for a train. That something came up with work. You had food poisoning. Anything, no matter how clearly bullshit it was. It hurt to have this night that was supposed to be special turn into something painful. Both of my paintings sold before I even got there. Do you know how big of a deal that is for an artist? Especially for someone like me. A nobody. And I wanted to share that with you so badly. But you didn’t show up. I hadn’t thought of you as cruel or careless. After tonight I won’t think of you again._

After she hit send she stared at it for a moment. The telltale three dots appeared for an instant and then went away.

* * *

Rey ground the coffee beans at seven and set the kettle to boil. It was earlier than she expected to wake up, but she couldn’t fall back asleep. She watered her plants like she did every Sunday morning. Taking an extra minute to clean out the drainage trays and check for any new leaves and sprouts while she went. They were as happy as ever in the morning sunlight. Then she poured herself some coffee and let it cool on the counter, staring at the steam curling over the lip of the mug. Just as she was about to rummage through the fridge for something to cobble together for breakfast, Rose came into the kitchen without so much as a good morning.

“Have you gotten in touch with Ben? Is he okay?” Her phone was clutched in her hands. Pajamas slightly askew and her hair in a messy bedhead bun.

“No and I don’t particularly care to. If he can’t even be fussed to send me some bullshit excuse about traffic or financial analyst emergency on a bloody Saturday night then—”

“Rey, his dad was in an accident,” Rose said, holding her phone up to Rey’s face.

_Beloved actor Han Solo in unknown condition after plane crash Saturday afternoon_

Her heart pounded. Rey pulled the phone and began to read, scanning for any information.

_While piloting his vintage two-seater aircraft Solo radioed a local airport with reports of engine failure_

She peeled her eyes from tabloid photos that supposedly showed the wreckage and instead looked at one of Leia Organa hustling into a black car, dark sunglasses shielding her face.

_His wife of over 30 years, the actress-turned-activist rushed to be by his side_

She was alone. Where was—

_The couple have one son and split their time between their West Village townhouse and several smaller properties including_

It was a lot of _sources say_ and _a spokesperson for the family asked for privacy at this time_ and tweets of support. But all Rey could think about was what she had said to Ben the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: brief mention of a plane crash. Please know that all involved are uninjured, but if this is something that might upset you skip from _beloved actor_ to the very last line. The summary is that Han was in an accident but is okay, and that is why Ben didn’t show up or call. The next chapter will deal with the aftermath of this and if there’s anything that might be upsetting I will make a note of it in the end notes but I don’t anticipate there being anything major in the current state of the chapter draft.
> 
> As an aside, I hope these kinds of content notes are helpful. I know that some readers like to prepare themselves for potentially difficult topics. This fic will deal with pain and sorrow and all of the things that life throws our way but it is, at its core, a happy and hopeful story. I am new to writing fic and tagging, so if you think I should add tags to this fic please (gently) let me know.
> 
> Kaydel is wearing a Saint Laurent suit circa the Hedi Slimane era with [this shirt](https://www.shopstyle.com/p/saint-laurent-paris-lipstick-print-blouse/486833993?redirect=false). 
> 
> *repeating this note from the last chapter because…I like talking about clothes.* As Rose and Rey’s outfits are vintage, they’re harder to place but I picture something like [this](https://shopgreylin.com/products/reagan-tuxedo-jumpsuit?utm_source=Pinterest&utm_medium=Social) for Rey but silk and with longer pants and this for [Rose](https://www.etsy.com/listing/495352964/60s-sequin-dress-electric-blue-1960s). Rey’s jumpsuit is the fancy version of her painter’s coveralls, which look like [this](https://www.dickies.com/coveralls-overalls/deluxe-blended-long-sleeve-coveralls/48799GY++L++S.html?cm_mmc=google-_-PLA-_-men-coveralls-overalls-_-48799&cm_mmc=google-_-PLA-_-CatchAll-_-null&gclid=CjwKCAjw_LL2BRAkEiwAv2Y3STQuExy0rZ4YXI5Hi0q-_9qnx__sD16g0LCI-6oVZlM1yhHjYXyy2hoCjOkQAvD_BwE) only worn to death. 
> 
> The title of Rey’s painting, [Flashburn](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Flashburn), is mainly because I thought it was a cool title for a comet.
> 
> [Ahsoka Tano](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Ahsoka_Tano) is, of course, from Clone Wars and Rebels. Ahsoka’s art style is inspired by [Haegue Yang](https://www.guggenheim.org/artwork/28092), [Bernini’s sculptures](http://blogs.cuit.columbia.edu/deb2170/the-rape-of-prosperina/) (especially the third image in that link), and [Julie Taymor’s](https://www.indiewire.com/2015/06/julie-taymor-on-bringing-her-staging-of-a-midsummer-nights-dream-to-the-screen-60730/) set designs. A lot of light and shadow and texture.
> 
> The Serreno Gala is named for the [planet](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Serenno) Count Dooku is from. I needed a fancy sounding name for a gala and just liked how it sounded, if I’m being honest! 
> 
> I also listened to a *lot* of Fleetwood Mac while editing this chapter and writing chapter 8 and chapter 9. Just “Silver Springs” on repeat.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey takes a last-minute trip out of the city where she is greeted by a friendly face and welcomed into a warm home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I know things were left on a cliffhanger last time but hopefully this long chapter more than makes up for that. It is by far the longest yet and full of feels.

The ride share app said 3 minutes away, and every time she looked at the screen if seemed to still say 3 minutes away. There was no one else at the station, nor did she expect there to be at 11am on a Monday. The leaves had just started to change, bringing burnt umbers and crimson to the edges of the large, old trees. A few were scattered around the platform, crunching beneath her boots.

Rey had called Ben as soon as Rose told her what had happened. It rang twice and went to voicemail. She circled the apartment before trying again a few minutes later. A familiar voice picked up, though it wasn’t Ben.

That was how five minutes on the phone with the woman who played her favorite character ended with Rey writing down an address upstate and heading to Grand Central at 8am for a train to Poughkeepsie. She still had some smudged eyeliner from the night before on her lids and the careful curls Rose had helped her with had fallen into bedhead waves that she didn’t bother brushing. She didn’t grab anything but her jacket and wallet before racing out the door.

Her ride finally arrived and she held her phone in her hand, knuckles straining, for the entire thirty-minute drive to the address Leia had provided. It was strange to be driving through such quiet streets. Little shops and diners open for lunch. White shutters on big houses with red doors and lush grass lawns. Eventually they wound through bumpy roads, turning away from the town center.

She checked the email account for the Resistance and had a reply from Dopheld Mitaka, the assistant she had been talking to for Maz. He was extremely formal in his missives, which gave Rey a chance to practice her own professional email tone though she longed to practice her snark.

_As you know, Ms. Kanata, the ownership will transfer at midnight on the 31_ _ st _ _of December. Before that time, we will require a full financial audit to ensure the validity of the business. Additionally, I would like to see the property myself and meet the staff on behalf of my employer. He would conduct the audit and tour himself but is busy handling other affairs._

Rey tapped out a reply and even managed to avoid throwing in what she thought about his employer (a knob) and his affairs (absolute bollocks) and what she thought of Mitaka (a git). They’d settled on a meeting on Wednesday to go over the books and show him the bar. Maz was worried that they’d need more time but Rey assured her that their health code rating was stellar and Chewie’s meticulousness would be impressive to a type-A person like Dolpheld Mitaka, Executive Assistant to Kylo Ren, Snalps Ventures. He sure liked to include his signature on every single email reply. Puffed up on importance, no doubt.

Knowing that he worked out of the office on the 21st floor, walking by the plants she so lovingly watered every week, made Rey curious about the assistant and his boss. While she could find some information and even a few photos of Mitaka, including one from a college chess championship, Ren remained a mystery. A single line on the Snalps Ventures website, which itself was vague, mentioned him as a Senior Analyst. This told her that he was likely too old for social media and, unlike Snoke and Palpatine who seemed to attend every black tie event in the city, spotlight shy. Didn’t make him any less like the Venture’s namesakes — rich and soulless — in Rey’s eyes. But she still hoped that the Resistance could continue under his ownership with little interference. It pained her to think of the space gutted and turned into something depressing. Like a bank branch.

They pulled up to a long private drive with a gate at the end and she thanked her driver before hopping out of the car. There was no speaker box, so she tried opening the gate. It groaned — the iron on the hinges a bit rusted — before giving way. It was a dirt drive, and not at all manicured. There were wild blueberry bushes and other local plants lining the way. Large trees that sighed on the breeze.

Soon she could see a beautiful two story cabin, perched atop a small hill. Made of dark wood and a deep green roof to blend in with the forest around it. Everywhere she looked was green. A small shed was tucked to one corner and a lean-to with firewood in neat rows not far away. A stump and an ax next to it, straight out of a storybook. There was smoke curling at the chimney and light coming from the windows on each floor. It was old and worn and lovely. A vintage Chevy convertible, big as a boat, was parked beside the house. And Ben’s motorcycle was beside it, his helmet resting on the seat.

Rey climbed the creaky porch and knocked on the door, her breath caught in her throat. She kept wringing her hands together and shifting her weight. A dog barked and she heard the clacking of its nails on the floor and then on the door itself, scratching and whining. A voice called from inside, “Off the door you scruffy—”

The door yanked open, and Rey was greeted by an excited and indeed scruffy dog with large ears. Behind it was someone Rey had seen hundreds of times on a TV screen and in the pages of her favorite old reference book.

Leia Organa pursed her lips and tilted her head. “So this is the famous Rey,” she said. “Come in, come in.”

Rey was welcomed into a large, open first floor with a grand fireplace burning low in the center. Everything was rustic but elegant. A large leather sofa and knit throws and pillows. A robust, golden cat with long fur and eyebrows lorded over a bookshelf bursting with titles, its tail swishing with suspicion. The little mutt of a dog licked Rey’s hand and she scratched behind its ears.

“That’s Artoo, and the cat is Threepio. Don’t let this warm welcome from the dog fool you — it’s actually the cat who won’t leave you alone. He’ll follow you around, talking your ears off. Drives my husband absolutely crazy.” Her smile was kind, and her eyes sparkled.

“Thank you for—I guess for having me, but that doesn’t quite make sense given…”

“Nonsense, I’m happy you’re here. Ben’s waiting for his father to be discharged but they should be back soon.”

“He can come home already? He’s—”

“Oh, he’s fine, like I told you on the phone. They kept him overnight as a precaution. I keep telling him he’s too old to pilot these little planes but he insists. And then the press has a field day with it. I’m sure there are some lovely shots of me looking pissed climbing into the car and headlines about his unknown condition. Thoughts and prayers and all that rot.”

Rey blushed. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen his name trending and thought the worst, only to learn that he had landed somewhere without permission or otherwise broke some rules related to flying. Sometimes she wondered if he had a little bit of his Galaxy Wars character in him. Leia certainly did.

“Just between us, I hope this scared him enough to give it up. I know it scared me and Ben maybe most of all. That boy hasn’t slept—”

“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m here? I don’t want to intrude, I know it must be hard for your family and I haven’t talked to Ben—”

“Rey. You’re more than welcome to be here. I got permission from my son, belated permission but don’t worry. He’s glad you’re here, too.”

She blushed and knelt down to give Artoo even more attention. After a few minutes he stretched and sauntered over to a plush bed and curled into a croissant shape. Light snores dotting the air.

“I need to be honest and tell you that I read your message from last night,” Leia said, her cool eyes were only slightly narrowed but Rey still felt every fiber in her body shiver. “As I said on the phone earlier this morning, Ben doesn’t have his phone. He gave me a new one for my birthday and in all the anxiety of the hospital trip and dealing with doctors and talking to our press rep I mistakenly took his when I left around dinnertime. All of these stupid things look the same,” she said, waving the device at Rey. It had a nondescript black case. “I should put a sticker on mine—”

“I can’t imagine what you must think of me, I wasn’t particularly understanding or kind—”

“Hush, I think you have conviction and I respect the hell out of it. I didn’t realize I had the wrong phone until much later. I started to write to you but I thought that might be too weird. When I spoke to Ben he said he would call you in the morning once we swapped back, but then you called first.” She smiled, a little bit smug but full of warmth. “I’m glad you did. Don’t work your brain over it too much. The things I’ve said to my husband, both before and after we were married, make your little note seem like a five-star review.”

“I—Thank you for being understanding. I was hurt and I don’t know why I felt the need to voice it so thoroughly. It’s not really like me. Well maybe it’s a little like me but…” Rey trailed off when Leia’s smiled stretched into a grin.

“My son needs a bit more of that kind of emotional honesty from people in his life who aren’t his father or mother. We weren’t always forthcoming with him when he was younger.”“Do you think…Would you mind deleting it?” Rey asked, thumbing the hem of her shirt. “I wrote it when I was angry and hurt and now that it’s morning…I think I can still tell him what last night meant to me without the rest of it.”

For a moment the two women skirted each other’s furtive glances.

“Rey, I can do that but I want you to know that your feelings of hurt and disappointment are valid regardless of why my son was unable to attend. I understand that what you said was in the heat of the moment but I don’t want you feeling guilty for being upset about it. You can be upset. Okay?”

“Yes. Okay. I’m—Guilt is where I tend to settle but I’ll try.”

Leia gave her a tour of the cabin. There was what she called the “Great Room” — the living, dining, kitchen area that composed the first floor. A bathroom and large pantry and a few storage closets rounded it out. As they walked through the space Rey took in all of the comforts that she’d never had growing up — framed art on the walls, books in small stacks on nearly every table, plants in every corner and on high shelves. There were pictures, too — pictures of Ben as a kid, his ears large and grin goofy, in all sorts of places around the world. In the desert with Han, on a film set. Backstage somewhere with Leia in full Shakespearean dress. She smiled when she found a framed version of the photo Chewie carried in his wallet.

“How is he?” Leia asked. “You know he doesn’t do texting.”

“No, I’m amazed he even remembers to keep his phone charged.” Rey chuckled, putting the photo back. “His shoulder’s healed quite quickly actually. Already back to work but he can’t lift anything heavy so that drives him crazy.”

“That man sure loves to show off his strength. I remember when Ben came home from college one year — even taller than before and very into his fitness — the two of them had an arm wrestling match.” She laughed and shook her head. “Couple of idiots grunting at each other. Could I get you anything, dear?”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“I’ve got a pot of coffee from earlier, can’t promise it’s hot. You’re English so maybe you prefer tea? We have all kinds of tea. And some muffins and—”

“Lukewarm coffee is my favorite, thank you.”

As Leia opened and closed cabinets and pulled out cream and sugar Rey slid into one of the stools at the counter. The kitchen was full of light from a large skylight in the center, above a butcher block island. Copper pots hung on pegs on one wall and ceramic utensil holders held dozens of wooden spoons and spatulas and whisks. It was a cook’s kitchen, and Rey wondered which of the Organa-Solos was the head chef.

Leia placed a grey stoneware mug the size of Rey’s head in front of her and poured coffee in. Then she placed a plate of blueberry muffins and a butter holder beside it. The muffins had a streusel topping and Rey’s traitorous stomach gurgled before she took one and spread a thick layer of butter on each half.

She asked questions about the house and the surrounding area. Anything to keep the conversation light and to help stop her from potentially fawning. It only took half an hour for her to feel more comfortable chatting with Leia, founder of the Organa Foundation, writer, parent, woman instead of THE Leia Organa, actress.

“My son tells me you’re an artist,” she said, “A painter.”

“I paint—but I’m still more of a bartender than an artist. It’s a hobby,” Rey replied. They had moved to a screened porch just off the living room. It overlooked the surrounding forest and a large mountain in the distance. Threepio wove between her legs, meowing in a near constant stream of chatter.

“You’re in a few galleries, Rey, you’re allowed to say you’re an artist. Even before then.” Leia smiled at her, eyes crinkling. “Tell me about this art show. Was Amilyn there? I’ve been meaning to catch up with her.”

“No, she wasn’t—You know Holdo?”

“We go way back, she’s helped with the Foundation for years. You’d like her. Very no nonsense and very kind. She’s a good leader. Impeccable taste. I haven’t seen this new gallery yet, I’ll have to make a trip once we’re back in the city.”

The sun crept its way though the trees, reaching for the afternoon. It was comfortable at the cabin, and though Rey’s insides churned as she waited for Ben and his father to come home, she felt welcome. They ate sandwiches and chips for lunch and it felt strange to reach into the fridge for a soda, but in a pleasant way. Leia was working on a puzzle out on the deck, and Rey helped sort pieces by color. The gentle breeze carrying the peace and stillness she so loved about autumn.

A sleek, black car rumbled up the drive. Its windows were tinted, but Rey strained and squinted to see into them anyway. She and Leia stood together on the front porch, waiting for the doors to open, while Artoo gave a few indignant barks from where he had curled up beneath Leia’s seat.

Ben unfolded from the car first, and she wanted him to look at her, to know that he was okay. Instead he crossed around to open the door for his dad.

“I’ve got it, kid, I’ve got it,”Han Solo emerged from the leather interior with a slight scowl. There was a small cut on his chin and he seemed a little stiff but otherwise healthy. “That’s your girl, then?” He jerked his head towards Rey and Ben finally turned and met her eye.

He looked tired, his eyes dull and face solemn. But he held her gaze and she tried to tell him, mind to mind, everything she knew she couldn’t say. Ben nodded and placed a broad hand on his father’s back to lead him up the steps. Han shook him off and gave Leia a cocky grin. The stairs creaking beneath his feet.

“Miss me?”

The man had the audacity to wink. Rey hid her smile and took a few steps backwards.

Some people crossed their arms and made themselves smaller than they were mad or hurt. But not Leia. She stood as tall as she was able, despite her small stature, and the feel of her gaze was pure ice.

“I told you the last time you had a skirmish that I would repay the stress you caused me with a hammer to that piece of junk and I meant it.”

“Hey— _Hey_! She’s not a piece of junk. You used to love flying with me—”

“Hate to break it to you flyboy, but you’re _old_ now. Your eyes aren’t what they used to be and don’t even get me started on your hearing,” Leia scoffed.

“It’s selective hearing, sweetheart, I can’t help it if I tune things out.”

“Tune me out is more like it.”

“But you always make your point known and isn’t that all that matters?”

“My point this time is I won’t drive from Manhattan to some hospital in the Catskills to yell at you about this dangerous little hobby of yours ever again. Do you hear me? Or are you tuning me out?”

“Hard to tune you out when you look this beautiful.”

“Stop that—”

Rey felt like she was watching a tennis match. Wimbledon maybe. Ben stepped around his bickering parents, whose fighting had shifted into flirting, and gestured for Rey to walk around the porch to the other side of the house. She could still hear them, faintly.

“Sorry about all—”

“Are you—”

They spoke at the same time and Rey smiled behind her fist. Ben quirked an eyebrow at her.

“I’m sorry about my parents. I’d say that kind of sparring isn’t normal for them but that would be a lie.”

“Honestly it’s like watching the masters at work. I’m a little sad to miss the rest of it.”

“The rest of it involves a lot of things I’m not comfortable seeing my parents do.”

Rey scrunched her brows, working out what he meant, before smiling. “Oh. Well. Yes. Nevermind then.”

They stood in silence for a moment, Rey turning to look out at the grounds again. She knew she needed to broach the subject of last night eventually, but for now she tucked it away.

“Are you okay?” She asked. There were faint purple brush marks beneath his eyes and a slight hunch to his shoulders.

“Slept sitting up in a hospital waiting room so I think I’ve probably slipped a disc. Did you know that in addition to being the worst flavor, orange Jell-O is loaded with artificial colors? Didn’t stop my dad from eating three of them last night. Winking at the nurses for an extra dessert.” He shook his head. He was rambling more than she’d seen from him, and she wondered why.

“Are you opposed to Jell-O now?”

“I’m opposed to anything orange flavored and Jell-O in general, yes.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, looking up at his tired face once more.

“What was your question?”

She pursed her lips and glared what she hoped was a gentle glare. “Ben.”

“Am I okay?” He flipped his eyebrows up and back down, then rubbed his jaw, twisting his head to face away from her. “I guess I don’t really know what okay means in this context.”

“What do you mean?”

Before he answered he stepped further around the porch to the back of the house. A short set of stairs led from what must have been the door to the kitchen down to a path that wound its way through some plantings to the shed and firewood storage. Everything felt lived in and the plants just slightly overgrown.

Ben sat on the second step, leaning his elbows on the porch and stretching his legs down to the ground. The uniform she’d grown accustomed to seeing him in, a soft black henley and black jeans, was a little rumpled beneath his leather jacket.

“I missed your art show. I—”

“Ben, really it’s fine—”

“But it isn’t fine. It was important to you and that’s important to me,” he said, picking at the worn wood on the edge of the porch. “And I missed it.”

“If my agent is to be believed this was the first of many and you can come to the next one.”

“I wanted to be there. With you. To see your work on display and meet your friends.”

“You couldn’t have known something like this would happen.”

He let his breath out slowly, eyes closed. A chipmunk darted out from under the stairs and dove into a bush, shaking the lowest leaves. It was quiet for a few beats before he spoke, softer than before.

“Did you know he helps fly medical supplies after natural disasters? It’s something tangible that anyone with a commercial license and their own aircraft can do to help. That I get. It’s helping people. Using his resources and pilot’s license for good, not just leisure.” Rey recalled a few headlines detailing Han’s efforts after hurricanes and earthquakes and wildfires. Always right in the thick of things, handing boxes to volunteers and chartering people.

“But that’s not the only reason he flies. I know he loves being in control, up in the air. I used to go with him when I was younger. For a while he’d mostly given it up. Sometimes…I wonder why he does the things he does. He’s in his 60s and yet he’s piloting rickety old planes on a Saturday afternoon, flying in dense forests. The next day he’s signing on for sequels to action movies he made 30 years ago like it’s not a big deal. Like his knee isn’t busted from an old stunt. For a while he was turning them down. Performing on stage instead. It made my mom so happy, having him home.”

“And you too, I think,” Rey gave him a small smile and sat down beside him at last.

“He’s not invincible. No one prepares you for the moment you realize your parents are human. They make mistakes and you’re left to deal with the fallout.”

Rey wanted to give him space to talk so she just listened and nodded. She’d never had that moment with her own parents. She could barely picture their faces. But she supposed it was a feeling that she knew in other ways, through her friends.

“When my mother called to tell me what happened I came straight here. She never—If she was calling instead of sending a text it was serious. I thought…”

After a few breaths, when it was clear he wasn’t going to continue, she placed her hand on his shoulder. The fine leather of his coat was supple beneath her hands. She could feel the slightest bit of body heat through it.

“What if he’d died?” He whispered, moving from his relaxed position to hunch his shoulders further, hands in fists on his thighs. “I keep asking myself that. I know it’s morbid and I know it’s not helpful but—”

“That’s only natural, I think, to worry like that after someone you love has had an accident.” It probably wasn’t the right thing to say, and Rey wondered if she should take her hand off of him or pull him closer.

“I just feel—”

He put his head in his hands, pressing the heel of his palms against his eyes.

“You can tell me. Or if you don’t want to talk about it we don’t have to.”

“Guilty. I feel guilty for wasting so much time. And for being mad at him now, when he’s lucky to even be walking after that crash. I’m angry at him and I feel guilty about it. I’m angry at me.”

Rey reached her other hand out and pulled his own from his face, really looking at him and forcing him to look at her.

“You know, your mum told me earlier that our feelings are valid. It’s okay to feel the way you feel right now. It doesn’t mean you love him any less.”

“I spent so many years—too many years angry at my father and pushing him away. Pushing both of them away. I just…I don’t want to lose him now that I have him in my life again. There’s nothing I can do to get that time we lost back. And it just…It just sucks. Why did I let it go so long?”

“It isn’t fair to punish yourself for what you needed to do in the past.” She rubbed his back in soothing circles with one hand and held his hand in the other, squeezing his calloused fingers. “You did what you had to do to take care of yourself at that point. ”

Ben pressed his forehead to Rey’s, leaning down to be on the same level. “I did a lot of horrible things I’m trying to make up for. I don’t know if I can make up for all of it.”

“Like your teenage mohawk.”

The warmth of his laugh grazed her skin and he kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m sure my mother brought out the family albums to prove that particular theory of yours wrong. Though I hope she skipped over any photos from ages 11 through 16.”

She brought her hand around his neck and kissed him slowly. She’d meant it to be a quick, soothing kiss but it only took the pressure of his lips to make her melt. His hand dropped to rest on her thigh before curling beneath her knee and bringing her legs onto his lap so he could deepen the kiss. The stairs dug into her spine but she leaned into it, pulling his face closer.

There were few things that turned the buzzing in her brain to a dull hum. One was painting, and for a while that was the only thing. Sometimes she could gaze out the window of the train as it crossed the Hudson and everything else would fade away. But now she knew that the way she felt beneath Ben’s hands and lips was just as effective. He claimed her mouth in soft caresses, matching her speed before a gentle touch of his tongue had her surrendering fully. She grasped the front of his shirt to get closer, fingers grazing his chest.

He dipped his head to mouth along her jaw, teasing a sigh when he got to the place just beneath her ear. The warm huffs of air against her skin made her shiver and the long fingers pressing into her thigh made her shiver for another reason entirely when they curled inward. They stroked down to her knees and back, as if he felt the tingling beneath her skin. Chasing it.

Rey imagined this was what teenagers did when they made out with their boyfriends in front of their family’s house and she giggled a little against Ben’s lips.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, squeezing her thigh with one hand and twisting her hair in another. He gave a slight tug to her strands and she grinned again.

“I’m imagining your parents standing at the kitchen sink, watching and wondering when they should interrupt this very high school pawing session.”

He chuckled and brought both hands to her face, kissing her thoroughly before unfolding his long legs and extending a hand to her.

“Given past experience I’d say they’re about five minutes away from offering a glass of water, snacks, and a game of cards.” She stood and threaded their fingers together, enjoying the way his lips looked rosier and the golden hour sunlight turned his dark hair auburn and eyes brightest amber. “And given that past experience I happen to have an escape route.”

Ben tugged her along behind him, towards the shed to the left of the house. He pushed the door open, the wood scraping against the concrete floor. It wasn’t a toolshed, like she’d expected, but a small garage of sorts. Shelves lined the walls, full of various automobile accessories and cleaning kits. In the center were two motorcycles. One large and silver, and one leaner, forest green and bronze like their surroundings.

“Of course your dad would have more than one motorcycle to get in trouble with,” Rey mused, drawn to the green bike.

“That one’s mom’s, actually.” Ben held a helmet in a large hand. “Here, try this.”

“Ben, I may have worked at an auto shop but I don’t even have a driver’s license—”

“You’re already dressed for it — jacket, boots. Done.”

“I may be dressed for it but I have no idea how to even turn the thing on.”

“Exactly. There’s a helmet for you this time so you’ll ride with me for now.” The promise of another time lingered and she took the helmet slowly, then strapped it on her head. Ben stepped towards her and adjusted the straps, his thumbs grazing her jaw as he did so. She tilted her face up to watch him fuss over the fit.

She whispered, “I never agreed to get on your little death trap, you know.”

“I know. But I also know that your heartbeat has increased,” he slid his hand around her neck, a finger on her pulse. “And that your pupils are larger, which means you’re excited.”

“Since when are you a doctor? I thought you were a professional spreadsheet maker or whatever.”

He rolled his eyes and guided her out of the garage. “Professional spreadsheet maker is just what my business cards say. I’m a financial analyst and consultant who makes a lot of spreadsheets.” She knew that, she just liked hearing him say it.

“You’ll have to give me one so that I remember what your boring job is.”

Ben didn’t respond to that and instead walked them down the overgrown slate path to his motorcycle.

“Have you ever ridden a bike before?” He asked, pulling gloves from a small pouch in the saddle bags. Rey shook her head. She’d seen a few come into Plutt’s shop, but he kept her on auto because her hands were better suited there.

“I can’t believe your mother has. It’s—I’m surprised I’ve never read about it.” She looked away, still a little ashamed to have known more about the woman from books and magazines than what she had learned in person throughout the day.

“One of the things we like most about the cabin is the privacy. Back in the 80s when they built it, they hoped it would be their sanctuary.”

“It’s certainly peaceful,” Rey said, thinking of how similar it was to her imaginary safe house. The images she conjured when her anxiety filtered through the shields. There was so much green. So much life in the cozy dwelling.

Ben nodded and flipped the kick stand, balancing the bike. “We didn’t spend a lot of time here when I was growing up but the weeks that we did…It felt like we were a normal family. I’d go fishing with my dad early in the mornings. Stay up reading with my mother by the fire at night.”

“Reading _The Odyssey_ and sipping cinnamon tea.”

“Ah, so you did snoop around the bookshelves and in the pantry.”

“Your mother’s tour was very thorough,” she lowered her voice, “I even know where she keeps the chocolates she doesn’t want your dad to find.”

Ben snapped his head to her. “She moves her secret chocolate location frequently. One time I found them inside an old first aid kit in the bathroom cabinet when I went looking for a bandage. I ate three pieces and she knew right away.”

“Of course she did, you have to count how many squares are left before you decide to either eat the whole thing or squirrel the rest away for winter.”

“Winter or three hours later,” he laughed low and put his helmet on, adjusting the straps slightly. He straddled the motorcycle, long legs stretched to the ground to keep it upright.

“Put your left foot here,” he pointed to the rear foot peg, “then swing your right leg over. You won’t have to do much once we get going. Just lean with me and don’t grip my waist too hard, I happen to like this jacket.”

Rey took a breath and climbed on behind him. Their bodies were flush, and though she’d gotten to feel him up a little bit the times they’d kissed, she now had the broad planes of his back beneath her embrace. It was chilly outside but his body heat surrounded her, as did the heat from the bike rumbling beneath them. It took her a moment to decide where to hold him before hugging his middle.

“It’ll be a little hard to hear each other once we’re moving. Are you ready?”

She thought about all the different meanings of that simple question. Was she ready to trust him? Was she ready to be with him? Was she ready to just get moving?Would she ever be?

She pinched his sides and felt his torso quiver with his laugh. “I’m ready, Solo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this chapter were hard to write because a lot of Ben’s feelings of guilt mirror my own experiences with my dad, who passed away earlier this year. I hope anyone reading who may have had similar experiences/feelings knows that you’re not alone and taking care of yourself is important. It doesn’t mean you loved them less, even on the hardest days.
> 
> Now to the usual brand of notes!
> 
> I spent more time than was probably necessary figuring out where, exactly, the Solos would be able to own a rustic, private home that was near enough to the city that Rey could take the train the majority of the way but rustic enough for what the story needed. Anyway. Their house is deep in the woods near Gardiner, NY, and thanks to some nice listings on AirBnB for helping me settle on that location!
> 
> [Dopheld Mitaka](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Dopheld_Mitaka), number one lackey. I really like when fics use him as Ben/Kylo’s assistant.
> 
> The vintage Chevy is a [1974 Caprice](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/bd/96/12/bd961222add723a3ff0c6c98b1a6f56b.jpg).
> 
> Fun fact maybe? Originally, Artoo and Threepio worked at the Resistance but I wanted them to be closer to the Organa-Solo family so they became pets and DJ and Snap replaced them at the bar. Artoo is a mixed breed like [this](https://caninehq.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/01/Rat-Terrier-Border-Collie-Mix.jpg?ezimgfmt=ng:webp/ngcb1) and Threepio is an [Orange Tabby Maine Coon](https://petskb.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/05/harry-bird-box-2.jpg).
> 
> Harrison Ford collects airplanes and other vehicles and is often in the headlines for breaking the rules while flying, getting into minor crashes, and other [happenings](https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-52503316). And he has also [flown supplies](https://www.prnewswire.com/news-releases/operation-smile-to-honor-harrison-ford-john-stamos-and-susan-casden-at-the-9th-annual-smile-gala-in-los-angeles-100904799.html) for Operation Smile and the 2010 Haiti relief efforts. 
> 
> I said a few chapters ago that I would probably talk about motorcycles more and here we are. This is Han’s [motorcycle](https://pictures.topspeed.com/IMG/crop_webp/201809/2019-street-glide-special-8_800x0.webp) and this is [Leia’s](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/e1/5f/2e/e15f2ec09966ab7f30638c035a10d2b7.jpg). Not that different from those speeders on Endor…


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey spends time with the Solos at the family cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another long chapter. I hope you enjoy it (maybe leave a comment 😇) and thank you for reading!

The bike glided down the Solo’s dirt road and onto the pavement of the more main roads closer to town. Ben seemed to know his way around and captained them effortlessly. Soon they were taking sharp corners, the machine leaning with him and righting itself on the flats. There were little dips of hills that made her stomach flip, like riding a rollercoaster. Rey laughed after a particularly thrilling stretch of snakelike streets and small hills.

Ben reached back with a gloved hand and squeezed her leg, resting his forearm on her thigh like an armrest, curling his fingers at her knee. She moved her own hand from his waist and placed her fingers over his, the top of his hand beneath her palm. He squeezed twice then released her for the handlebars again.

“Alright?” He called, his voice muffled by the helmet and the wind. She held him tighter.

“Bloody brilliant!” She shouted back. Feeling his rough chuckle against her chest was like taking a turn at an extreme angle — there was something about being with Ben that made her feel more. See more. She wanted to paint. Instead she let her mind wander down some dangerous paths, the kind that were lit by candlelight and lined in soft velvet. The kind that made her blush.

Trees blurred together as the motorcycle crested another curve in the road. The air was cold but Rey only felt the heat from Ben beneath her arms. They were pressed closer together now that they were riding faster. She clung to him not from fear but exhilaration. Once, on a trip to Montauk with Rose and Finn and Poe and their college friend Cara, Rey rode a scooter. At the time she had marveled at its speed compared to the city bicycles she peddled across Manhattan. But that might as well have been a child’s toy compared to this. Because this felt like flying.

People were always talking about getting out of the city and going Upstate. It was something Rey always thought strange, that anything outside of metropolitan New York was just “Upstate” even if it wasn’t all that far away from the city. Now, with the trees dressed in burnt umber and bright crimson, and the cool taste of autumn in the air, she thought she might understand it. Autumn in New York was something that television and film glorified, and they were right to — there was nothing like watching the leaves fall on Central Park and float down the sidewalks. A hot cup of spiced apple cider from the farmer’s market after a long day watering plants. But even her most perfect autumn in New York day would pale in comparison.

The motorcycle rumbled as it slowed down to a crawl. They had reached what appeared to be a dead end, but rather than turn around, Ben took them down a small dirt path into the woods before cutting the engine.

“Climb off first, swing your right leg—“

Rey hopped down and pulled her helmet off before he could finish, a grin stretched across her face. She smoothed the top of her hair and cradled the helmet in front of her.

“Do you take to everything this quickly?” He asked once his own helmet was removed. Rey wasn’t surprised that Ben’s hair looked just as it did before the helmet and hers was likely a mess.

“Only the things that will make you ask me that question with an impressed look in your eye.”

Ben balanced his helmet on the seat and reached for hers, setting it down beside his.

“Just a casual stroll in the woods now? Will we meet a man with an axe and a table made of human femurs?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but Abe moved out of his hovel. I heard he retired to Florida but I can ask around, if you’re that interested in meeting him.”

“Would sooner eat worms but thanks.” Rey rolled her eyes and stepped towards him. “So what are we doing here then?”

“I want to show you something.”

Ben took his gloves off and stuffed them in his coat pockets. Then he held out his hand and she took it, lacing their fingers together.

Twigs snapped beneath his large feet. Whistles sang through the leaves and boughs above them. The afternoon sun dappled patterns on the forest floor, scattered with dry orange pine needles and brown acorns of all sizes. There was a chill in the air and Rey tried to stay close to Ben to absorb his seemingly endless body heat. When she’d left that morning, she wasn’t exactly preparing for time outside. Her thin, white t shirt did little to keep her warm and the zipper on her leather jacket had broken several years earlier.

“I should have worn a jumper,” Rey said, tightening her hold on his hand.

“I took a longer route here—“

“To show off for me. Love that.”

“We’ll only stay a minute and then we can head back and warm up. Mom probably has a fire on by now.”

“Do you still read together? Like you said you did—“

“Now we mostly read our own things but yes. Occasionally she’ll lend me the memoirs and nonfiction books about women in power and women in oppression and women in nonprofits she tends to favor.”

“And you read them?”

“I think we should always look to different perspectives. It’s how we grow as people. I can’t ever know how someone who wrote those books feels, but I can try to learn more so that I can be a better ally to them.”

“That’s…”

“That’s what? Idealistic of me?”

“No, it’s very compassionate. What books do you lend to her, then?”

The tips of his ears, barely visible beneath the waves of perfect sable hair, pinked. It could have been from the cool air but Rey knew it wasn’t. And she loved it.

“Well, I gravitate more towards fiction…”

“Bodice rippers? Steamy pirate romances and arranged marriages?”

“I would never subject my mother to my late night reads.”

They had gone a few dozen yards from the road and Rey could no longer see the motorcycle over her shoulder. But it seemed they had neared their destination because the trees had begun to thin.

“I read a lot of fantasy and science fiction. Sometimes the real world is too much and I prefer to get lost in a new one,” Ben squeezed her hand and let go so that he could lift a low branch for her to pass under, then ducked his tall frame beneath it. Soon his hand found hers again.

“That’s what I feel when I’m painting. Like I’m lost in a different world, even though I’m painting things that exist here. In my head it’s different. I stay there for hours.”

They reached the end of the treeline — spread in front of them was blue sky for miles. The surrounding forests blanketed beneath it in a mosaic of orange and green and red and brown and gold. A large grey mountain loomed in the distance. They weren’t very high up, but the view stretched far into the horizon.

“Oh, wow.” Rey grabbed Ben’s forearm with the hand that wasn’t held in his own. She leaned into his body, resting her head just beneath his shoulder, hugging his arm to her.

For a while they stood side by side in silence, gazing outward.

“There’s an old hiking trail my dad and I used to take up here. When I was a teenager I looked at a lot of maps for the area and theorized that I could get here without the uphill climb.”

“You looked at a lot of maps?”

“I never said I wasn’t a nerd.”

“But you had a mohawk and a motorcycle and tattoos! I can’t believe you were a secret nerd,” Rey clutched her jacket closer around her when the wind picked up.

Ben angled his body towards hers and hugged her to his chest. “I can feel your teeth chattering, Arizona. And here I thought you Brits were used to a little cold air.”

“Just because your body is a space heater doesn’t mean the rest of us have that luxury,” she said, pressing her check against the soft cotton of his shirt. The staccato beat of his heart picked up. She could hear every note. “Was this your make out spot? You said you had an escape route. Am I just like your high school girlfriends, then?”

“Oh no they were only shown the woods by my house. I’d come here alone to think in the quiet whenever I had to be here in the summer.” He pulled away slightly to look down his long nose at her. “But if you’d like to help me, I can turn it into my make out spot.”

She grinned and stretched onto her toes to claim his lips with hers.

* * *

The sun had started to set by the time they made their way back to the cabin. Rich dusky pinks and oranges painted the sky, blending out to navy blue twilight. A single light beamed from the motorcycle to light their way through the tree-lined roads and down the dark driveway back to the Solo family cabin.

Rey dismounted and removed her helmet while Ben pushed the bike into the shed. He took her helmet—not _her_ helmet, it was Leia’s—and put it back inside.

A screen door slammed against the side of the house, taking their attention.

“There you kids are,” Han said, his voice a friendly growl.

“Dad, you should be resting—“

“Ah, I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” Rey noticed a tick in Ben’s eye at the joke. “Dinner’s on and your mother’s fussing. Better come in before she starts on the wine.”

He turned and went back inside, movements slow but the look in his eyes as mischievous as ever. Rey followed Ben up the steps and into the house, which smelled like Thanksgiving and firewood and cinnamon.

“Well there you are!” Leia said from her perch in the kitchen. She was wearing a faded striped apron and holding a wooden spoon that was dripping something onto the counter beneath it.

“Hon? You’re spilling—“

She placed the spoon back in the pot on the stove and put her hands on her hips.

“Your father just got home from the hospital and I turn around and you’re gone. Still don’t have your phone—” She waved it at Ben, “—between the two of you, this is why I only work with women.”

Rey laughed, then caught Ben’s stern look and cleared her throat. “Sorry.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Ben said, stepping around the counter and slinging an arm over her shoulders, tugging her into a hug. She was more than a foot shorter than he was, and she elbowed him in the waist. “How about I set the table?”

“You better, that’s your job.” She turned to Rey, “You’re staying for dinner, right dear?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude. I should probably see about the next train and a ride—“

“Train’s done for the day,” Han said. He was leaning back on the couch, his ankle crossed over his knee. Grinning at her. “It’s late, kid.”

Rey pulled out her phone and ignored all the missed notifications to pull up the train schedule. Sure enough, the last train for Manhattan departed almost an hour ago.

“It would cost a fortune to take a car to the city at this hour. You’re welcome to stay the night,” Leia said with a smile. She poured glasses of wine and danced around the kitchen, squeezing around Ben to hand her a glass. Rey and Ben avoided each other’s eyes.

“I—Are you sure that’s okay? I can get a ride, really—“

“We have a guest room,” Ben said over his shoulder from where he was placing forks and knives on cloth napkins for each of them on the small square table.

“Guest room.” Han chuckled. “Yes I’m sure you’ll be comfortable in the guest room all night.”

Leia settled a glare on her husband, who mouthed what looked like “I love you” at her before turning on the small TV in the corner and aimlessly flipping through the channels.

Rather than face the absolutely awkward tension in the air Rey flicked through the notifications on her phone and replied to some texts from Rose. She had an email from Kaydel that she opened and read.

“Oh my god,” she said. The words leaving her mouth without preamble.

“What is it? Are you okay?” Ben asked, rounding the corner to stand near her.

Rey held a hand to her mouth and read the email again.

“Rey?”

“Yes—I’m—It’s…My agent emailed me earlier. A gallery in London is going to display one of my paintings. It’s on loan from the owner, so it’s more for exposure than anything but…”

“Rey, that’s incredible, congratulations!” Leia said. She took her apron off and joined them. Ben threw his arm around her shoulders and rested his cheek on the top of her head.

“Hey, great news, kid!” Han said from the couch.

“It’s an anonymous buyer…They bought a few of my paintings and Kaydel says they wanted to help bring my art to others so they’ve loaned one of the paintings to the Longworth Gallery in Kensington.”

“I love West London. We stayed there for a few months when I was in a show there,” Leia said.

“Amazing news, Rey.” Ben squeezed her waist.

“Leia, I think there’s a bottle of champagne in the—“

“In the cellar, you’re right. This is an occasion for it.” Leia moved to the basement door and hustled down the stairs.

“We don’t have to do anything special,” Rey mumbled, tapping out a reply to Kaydel.

“I’m really proud of you,” Ben said softly before pressing a light kiss to her temple.

“Found it!” Leia called from somewhere below. She climbed back up the stairs with a slightly dusty bottle. “It’s one of the bottles from my parents. Alderaan Vineyards. We haven’t had this since—“

“Since Ben was born, surely,” Han mused.

“No didn’t we open a bottle for our 30th anniversary?”

“I was shooting in Vancouver and you were somewhere on your book tour.”

“Then our 25th?”

Rey listened to them ponder out loud for a moment and took a breath before squirming her way out of Ben’s arm. “I need to use the bathroom, excuse me.”

“Use the one at the top of the stairs! This one’s a bit temperamental,” Leia told her, then set about getting champagne flutes from a cabinet.

“Great, thank you,” Rey said then took the stairs at what was almost a run. She didn’t look around like she normally would have, just wrenched open the bathroom door and shut it behind her, clicking the lock into place. With her back against the door she closed her eyes and took two deep breaths before her lips broke into a grin. She held her hands in fists and quietly jumped up and down.

_Rose!!!! My art has gone international BABYYYYY! One of the space paintings is going to London. Oh and Ben’s dad is okay and just as cranky yet charming as he seems on TV. And his mom is somehow even more amazing in person. And Ben is great. And I have to stay the night because I missed the train. Okay I think that’s it texting from the loo need to go now love you miss you bye xx_

Once she’d gotten her other replies out of the way she sent an email to Bodhi to confirm that she could use the studio space this week. And texted Paige to beg her to cover her shift the next day, just in case the train schedule worked against her again. When she glanced in the mirror she saw someone who looked happy. Despite the bit of purple beneath her eyes from her lack of sleep. The slight helmet hair messy waves. She was still smiling. It was like she couldn’t get her facial muscles to relax.

 _Get it together, Johnson, don’t want the Solo’s to think you’re a loon_ , she thought.

When she came back down the stairs everyone was holding a glass of champagne, waiting for her but trying to look like they weren’t waiting for her. Rey walked over to Ben and took the extra glass he held out to her. She smiled up at him and the tension in his shoulders lessened.

“To Rey and her paintings and all of her recent success. And to Dad, for making it home in one piece,” he added, glancing over at his father quickly before looking back to her. “Congratulations,” he whispered as they clinked their glasses together.

The champagne was smooth and bubbly and the glass was cut crystal. Much finer than anything Rey had had before. And yet somehow she felt comfortable in the large, open room with the Solo family. The crackling fire low in the hearth, coals glowing.

“Can we eat already? I’ve had nothing but hospital garbage for twenty-four hours,” Han said, knocking back the rest of his glass in a single gulp.

“From what I heard you sweet talked your way to extra servings of Jello,” Rey said, then sipped her own champagne. “Is that garbage?”

Han smiled and pointed at her, “Oh, I like her.”

Rey felt her cheeks blush and caught Ben’s eye. The corner of his mouth quirked upward, and he guided her to a seat. His hand skimming the sliver of skin at the small of her back where her t shirt rode up. A featherlight touch from his thumb brushing her hip when he pulled away to take the seat across from her. Han and Leia sat at each end of the small table, beautifully set with a platter of roasted chicken and potatoes, a big wooden bowl of salad, and another bowl with steamed broccoli. It was a simple meal, but it smelled amazing and Rey tucked in eagerly while Ben and his dad talked about motorcycles and a new tailpipe he was considering.

“I had hoped that since we have company they would refrain from talking about toys at the dinner table but there’s really no help for them,” Leia said from behind her wine glass.

“It’s alright, gives me more time to eat instead of trying to keep up with the conversation,” Rey said. She had already finished the first helping of potatoes she had put on her plate. It made sense at the time to err on the conservative side when it came to dishing out her portion, but now that she had tasted the delicious little spuds, perfectly seasoned with fresh rosemary and flaky salt and high quality olive oil, she resented herself from five minutes ago for being frugal.

“Here, have some more potatoes before my son takes them all.” Leia scooped two heaping spoonfuls onto Rey’s plate.

“I can hear you,” Ben said, his eyes still on his father, who was now talking about his cars.

“I know you can.”

They ate and talked about Han’s hope to restore an old Thunderbird he had in storage and Leia’s latest fundraising activities for the many charities supported by her nonprofit.

“Hey, Kid, how’s work been?” Han asked.

“It’s fine,” Ben said, shoveling more chicken into his mouth and washing it down with a gulp of water. “Not much to talk about.”

“Were you able to—“

“Come on, Dad, can we not? I don’t want to bore everyone.”

“Easy, I was just asking, no need to get grumpy.”

Ben gave him a look then turned to his mother to ask about her book club. It was the one moment all night where she felt uncomfortable. It seemed a simple enough question. But Ben didn’t talk about his work much. Mostly he said it paid well and that he wanted to do something else for a change but she had yet to find out what that something else would be.

Threepio wound between her legs and meowed up at her, his giant whiskers catching on the denim of her pants. She looked up to find Leia and Ben deep in conversation about the book she was reading. Then she took a small piece of chicken from her plate and slipped it to the cat.

“I saw that, you know.”

Rey twitched, then turned to find Han watching her.

“Now he’ll never leave you alone. Damn cat has no sense of personal space.”

“Leia said the dog wouldn’t bother with me but that Threepio was another story.” She scratched the soft hair at the top of his head, and the car purred.

“And she was right. What’d you think of the bike? Pretty smooth, huh?”

“Oh, it was brilliant I loved it.”

“Ben’s done a few modifications but I rode that thing out here from California with a buddy of mine. Sang the whole way. Can’t ride it for too long now or my knee acts up. Had to get an old man bike—“

“That just so happens to be one of the best on the market and look just as cool as whatever it is the younger crowd is driving,” Leia cut in. Ben stood to clear the table and Rey pushed her chair back to help before he brushed her off.

“That’s really your bike out there, the green one?” She asked.

“I haven’t ridden this year. Been busy with the foundation. But I’ve been known to keep up with these two scoundrels on occasion.”

Han let out a laugh that turned into a yawn, stretching his arms for a moment before pulling them back with a wince.

“Yes that is what happens when you bruise two ribs and fracture a third,” Leia said, lips pursed.

“Thanks for the information, princess, I think I got it the first ten times.”

Rey scooted her chair back and brought the last of the dishes into the kitchen where Ben was washing up. There was a towel hanging from the oven door so she grabbed it and started drying. There was no dishwasher, and she liked the methodical task.

“They bicker like this a lot, I’m sorry if it’s weird,” Ben said, handing her a champagne flute.

“I’m sorry to weird you out further by saying I think it’s cute, actually. You can tell there’s no venom in it.”

“Imagine being subjected to a lifetime of foreplay, which you start to recognize as foreplay in your preteen years. Is it still cute?”

“Hmm,” Rey stacked the plates on the counter and thought for a moment, listening to them. “Yes. Still cute.”

Ben rolled his eyes and went back to the dishes.

“Alright, kids, it’s been a long day and I’m in need of a comfortable mattress. We’ll see you in the morning,” Han said. He was standing now, one arm around Leia, leaning slightly into her for support. One of her hands rested at his stomach and she smiled up at him.

“Yes let’s get you to bed before you can do any more damage to this old bag of bones you call a body.”

“You hear the way she talks to me, Rey? This loving wife of mine…”

“Don’t you go sweet-talking her to your side. Women stick together, it’s the girl code,” Leia said, turning him towards the stairs.

“There’s a girl code? I think I know a few things that would interest the girl code—“

And on they went up the stairs.

Ben raised a brow at Rey and she shook her head.

Crickets chirped outside the window. Artoo snored from his bed in the corner of the living area as the last of the dishes were put away.

“I’ll need to borrow something to sleep in. And I’d love a toothbrush, if you have an extra,” Rey said, thumbing the hem of her shirt.

“We have a few spares, let’s see what we can find.” Ben took the stairs two at a time, his long legs doing half the work it took Rey’s average ones to climb. First he rummaged through the small linen closet in the bathroom before producing a new toothbrush, a bath towel, and a wash cloth. He deposited them in her hands then led her to the guest room and flipped on the light.

It was decorated in shades of cream and yellow, warm like baked bread. There was a rocking chair in one corner and a small desk by the window with a typewriter.

“Is that for show or does it see any use?” Rey asked, placing her towels on the chair.

“It’s mom’s. She wrote all of her books on it. Refuses to write on a laptop, even though I got her one. One time this summer, she was working on compiling her old diaries from the _Galaxy Wars_ days, and half of her finished pages flew out into the hall from the breeze. Now she uses that rock on the windowsill as a paperweight.” Ben stretched an arm behind his head, the tiniest bit of skin visible between his waistband and the hem of his shirt.

When Rey looked back up he was watching her. He cleared his throat. “Right, sleep clothes. Give me a minute.”

He strode from the room and around the corner. Rey took the time to brush her teeth and wash her face. Leia kept a few necessities in the guest bath and she was especially grateful for cleanser and moisturizer, if only because Rose would be ashamed to learn otherwise. When she emerged and went back to the guest room there was a pair of flannel pajama pants in a faded blue plaid and a black t shirt.

The door was open a tiny crack, and Rey didn’t think much of it as she took her own t shirt and bra off and slipped his shirt on. It was softest cotton and covered her down to mid thigh. Her jeans went next and finally her socks. As she reached for the pajama pants she hesitated. It was already warm in the room and she hated being too hot when she was trying to sleep.

A soft knock at the door brought her attention over her shoulder. Ben looked from her bare feet up to her face and back again before opening the door a little further.

“So if you need anything, I’ll be just…” He gestured behind him, keeping his eyes somewhere above her shoulder. He had changed into thin joggers and a black t shirt identical to the one Rey now wore.

“Oh, you’re going to bed then?” She asked, then felt silly.

“Well, I figured you’ve had a long day—“

“I’d argue that your day was longer than mine—“

“You took a train all the way out here—“

“Yes and you slept in a hospital waiting room, I think you win, Ben.”

He sighed and shook his head. “I can’t believe you came. I keep waiting for someone to wake me up and tell me it’s the morning. I’m still at the hospital with a backache and cold cups of coffee.”

She stepped closer, tugging the hem of the shirt a little when it rode up her thighs with the movement. “Hate to break it to you, Solo, but it’s true. All of it..”

He reached out and circled her wrist, bringing her closer. When they were close enough to share breath he tilted her chin upwards and whispered into her lips, “One way to know for sure.”

Kissing Ben was like riding downhill on a motorcycle — her stomach somersaulted but she felt energized. He sucked the soft plush of her lip into his mouth, pulling her closer with his teeth. Skirting his hand down her neck, caressing her shoulder and gripping her upper arm while she hummed into him. When she sighed her lips parted and his tongue gently danced with hers.

Soon her hands migrated to his hair, letting it pass through her fingers before tugging it and earning a light groan from Ben. He cradled her jaw in his hand and pulled soft kisses from her lips that he then pressed beneath her ear. His other hand slid down to the end of her shirt to squeeze her backside.

Rey took his face in both hands and kissed him fiercely, pulling him down to her level so that she was no long standing on her toes.When they at last broke apart for air, he grazed her checks with his thumbs.

“Show me your room?” She asked, her voice quiet. She caught her lower lip in her teeth. “I mean, just to see it.”

The soft puffs of air from his laugh were warm against her face. He kissed her once. Twice. Then her cheek. Then the spot below her ear. Her neck.

“Ben…”

“Sorry, I got lost trying to find my room. Think you can show me the way?” He tucked her hair behind her ear and left one more kiss there as she rolled her eyes and took him into the hallway. He turned her light off on the way.

The hallway was dark, the only light from the space beneath his door. With one hand he pushed the door open to reveal a slightly larger bedroom than the one they were just in. It was dark wood and rich forest greens. Several small plants dotted the space and Rey was pleased to see they were well-cared for. A black leather duffel bag was tucked to one corner. Some clothes neatly draped over the armchair by the window. A side table lamp illuminating the room.

Ben sighed.

“What?”

“I hate admitting that my dad was right.”

“How so?”

“The guest room is definitely not going to be used tonight.” He pulled her down to the bed with him, holding her close. She laughed before he kissed her again.

Another turn of her stomach when she realized she could feel him through the thin pants, against her stomach. and she nipped at his full lower lip, pillow soft and enticing. One of his hands hitched her leg up higher, his palm beneath her thigh and fingers cupping her knee. Skimming her skin and sliding under her shirt. He pressed his fingers between her ribs and pressed against her, delicious friction singing through her.

A groan slipped between their lips and Ben pulled away. “Probably need to slow this down.” When Rey frowned he continued. “Parents. Thin walls. And I don’t think either of us can be quiet.”

“Is that a challenge?” She pushed his shoulder flat to the bed and swung her leg over him, straddling his body. Without hesitating he flipped them back over, pressing her into the bed with a searing kiss that stole the last breath from her lungs. When he left her with a few chaste brushes of his lips against hers she caught her breath, bringing a hand to her forehead.

Ben clicked the lamp off and untucked the blankets so that they could crawl in between them. He settled onto his side and faced her.

“I’m glad you’re here.” His voice was low and comforting.

“Me too,” she said, a yawn escaping her before she could suppress it.

“I’m sorry I missed your show.”

“S’okay, Ben. Maybe I’ll show you my paintings sometime.” She snuggled closer, her forehead resting on the edge of his pillow. His breath against her hair. A bit of his shirt held between her hand.

It was quiet then, the only sounds the ambient scratches of tree branches and rustling of leaves outside the window.

It must have been a dream — she heard him say, “They’re beautiful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cara is just a cheeky nod to The Mandalorian’s Cara Dune. 
> 
> To be honest I used the name Abe because I wanted a name for a bad person and thought of a certain director who attempted to make a sequel to _The Last Jedi_ but made…whatever that was.
> 
> And the Longworth gallery is named after [Karina Longworth](https://twitter.com/KarinaLongworth), host of the brilliant podcast _You Must Remember This_ and wife of Rian Johnson, known King. It is in Kensington, which is one of my favorite neighborhoods in London and very ritzy. Good for Rey ;)
> 
> Alderaan Vineyards because I am extremely subtle. It’s a champagne, so really it’s just Toniray in the real world. Right, destinies?


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So...Uh...Ben and Rey go back to his place. 
> 
> *drop kicks the chapter that required an E rating*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An infinite amount of thanks to [destinies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/destinies) and [inky_pens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inky_Pens) for helping to push me with this beast of a chapter and turn it into something that I'm proud of.

Rey woke to sunlight and the faint sound of pots and pans rattling in the kitchen. At first she thought it was Rose but when she opened her eyes she remembered she wasn’t at home. Instead she was tucked into a large bed with empty sheets on the other end. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was early, just before eight. Maybe she could tiptoe back to the guest room and no one would be the wiser.

The door to Ben’s room creaked under her hands as she opened it, wincing slightly at the sound. She left it ajar and passed the closed bathroom door, just a few more steps until— her hand stilled on the doorknob just as Han shut the door down the hall. He chuckled and gave her a quick salute before easing down the stairs, whistling.

Rey wrenched the door open and shut it behind her, leaning against the wood. _Shit_. It became very apparent in the morning light that her legs were bare and the t-shirt barely skimmed her ass. Grumbling to herself, she crossed the room to gather the towel and washcloth so that she could shower.

Ben emerged from the bathroom, his hair dripping, a towel slung low across his hips.

“You’re awake,” he said, drops of water trailed down his chest and she had to force herself to look up at his face.

“I may have run into your dad…”

He blew out a breath. “Never going to hear the end of it,” he said to himself. “Should be everything you need in there but I’ll be here if you need anything.” He jerked his thumb towards his room and she bit her lip.

“Now that your dad’s seen me like this I suppose I’ll keep the innuendo to myself,” she replied.

There was still steam on the mirror that she wiped with her hand to see her reflection. Hair a tangle. But she had slept soundly, and the circles beneath her eyes had faded.

The soap smelled of sandalwood and amber, the warm notes that clung to Ben’s clothes. She lathered the washcloth and scrubbed down to her toes. There was fancy shampoo and conditioner, and yesterday she might have assumed it was Leia’s fine tastes but she knew it belonged to a certain tall, hair conscious man.

She combed through her hair with her fingers, removing the tangles and squeezing it dry in the towel before she got dressed. After tugging her jeans on she decided to put Ben’s t-shirt back on, tying a knot to help it fit a bit better.

She squeezed her hair once more, wondering what to do with it, when Leia knocked on the doorframe to the guest room.

“Sleep alright?” She asked. If she took in the clearly still made bed she didn’t let on.

“I did, thank you,” Rey answered, tucking her wet hair behind her ears.

“Do you want me to—never mind,” Leia said, making to turn back into the hall.

“What is it?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted me to braid your hair for you but that seemed maybe a little weird or—“

“Actually, that would be great. I’m not the best with hair, if I’m honest. Usually it’s just a messy bun unless my roommate’s around.” Rey smiled.

Leia worked with deft hands to weave Rey’s hair into twin braids that met at the nape of her neck.

“My mother used to braid my hair for me. I’m not as neat as she was but I think I do a decent enough job.”

Rey handed her the hair elastic from her wrist. She couldn’t remember if her own mother had ever done anything like this for her. It was a simple expression of care for most but something more meaningful for her.

“I think it looks amazing,” she said, catching the older woman’s eyes, so like Ben’s except for the slight crinkles at the edges. “Thank you.”

“We’ve got some breakfast downstairs,” Leia said. And as if she could see the emotion in Rey’s own eyes, she added, “Come down whenever you’re ready.” And squeezed her shoulder as she left the room.

For a few moments she stayed seated at the edge of the bed, twirling the end of her braid in her hand. Mashra cared for her, but in a detached sort of way. They didn’t hug or touch really. She’d had some casual friends growing up but no one close enough to let hold her. It wasn’t until college, when she met Rose and Finn that she’d been comfortable enough to show affection. Now it was easy with them, to link her arm through Finn’s or to cuddle up to Rose while they watched a movie. Whenever she spent time with the Tico family she was guaranteed a few hugs. But with new people it was always harder to let her guard down.

Except with the Solos. She’d felt comfortable here instantly. Welcomed and cared for. She grabbed her jacket, yesterday’s t-shirt, and her phone and headed to the dining area. Ben and his mother worked in tandem in the kitchen, pulling a sheet pan of bacon from the oven and scrambling eggs on the stovetop. A mug waited for her on the counter by the coffee maker. She poured a cup and sipped, grateful for the caffeine.

Han read the paper and drank his own cup of coffee in the living room. Every so often she’d catch him wincing a little and gingerly touching his side. Artoo curled at his feet and Threepio meowing at him from the back of the armchair, his little golden face inches from Han’s. Chattering away.

Even though she wasn’t a great cook, she offered to help and was grateful to be tasked with setting the table and pouring glasses of juice. Next she put thick slices of bread in the toaster and buttered them as they popped up. Soon the table was laden with food, and they ate heartily while talking about the Foundation’s upcoming events and Han’s next film project. They asked Rey about her art and the Resistance, promising to stop by for a beer one day next week if they went back to the city.

After breakfast they played card games and while Han took a nap, Leia walked them around the property and talked animatedly about the local plants, and Rey was pleased to be able to identify some of them on her own. She told Leia about her work for Takodana Botanicals and about the plants she had at home. The split leaf monstera and string of pearls and pothos and air plants she cared for in her small Bushwick apartment, half of them rescued from the bin at different offices and nursed back to health.

The day passed and soon it was time to head back to the city, before the sun set. While Ben readied the bike, Rey hugged his parents goodbye. A brief side hug, complete with a shoulder clap from Han. A warm embrace from Leia, who ran her hand down Rey’s braid before she let go and cupped her cheek. “Come back again soon. And make sure to let me know when your next show is.”

“I will,” Rey said. She couldn’t help herself and watched Ben say goodbye to his parents, kissing the top of his mother’s head while he held her. Pulling his father into a hug. Han cupped his cheek in his hand before waving him off. They stood on the porch, Han's arm around Leia’s shoulders.

“Ready to go?” Ben asked as he strapped his helmet on. Rey’s own helmet was already in place and she nodded.

They took a scenic ride back to Manhattan, weaving along the river and through sleepy towns. Ben brought them to a small, family-run Italian restaurant for an early dinner where they talked about his family and the last two days. They lingered until his hand grazed her knee beneath the table. His eyes were dark when he asked, “Should I take you home or would you like to come over for a drink?”

The check was paid quickly, and then they were back on the road. Rey curled her body against his on the bike and he held her knee as often as he could, pressing into her thigh with his fingers. She borrowed one of his sweaters before they left the cabin, but she still clung to his warmth.

They crested the bridge just as the sun was setting, illuminating the city in gold and pink. They slowed to a crawl with the nightly traffic. By the time they arrived at Ben’s apartment in the East Village it was pure night, the sky never fully black because of all the lights of the city. He pulled the bike up to a brick building, a few stories high, with a garage door at street level. He fumbled with a fob on his keys and the door opened to reveal a small, underground parking garage. There were four parking spaces, three of which were occupied by expensive looking vehicles. Ben pulled the motorcycle into the fourth and cut the engine. Rey climbed off and removed her helmet, grateful again for Leia’s braid that had remained intact. Ben stored his helmet on the seat and opened the saddle bags to grab the few things he had brought back with him.

“Where should I…?” Rey held her own helmet in her hands, unsure of where to place it.

“We’ll bring it up,” he said. Then he guided her to a steel door, which opened into a crisp lobby. There was a small desk and a doorman who gave them a nod as they crossed the gleaming white floors to an elevator. Ben hit the top floor, 4, and leaned against the side of the elevator.

“It’s a small building,” he said, “Just the four units.”

So each floor was its own place. Rey swallowed, imagining a sleek, modern apartment at the other end of the elevator. Full of chrome and black leather and remote controlled lights and fireplaces. But when the doors opened, they were in a small hallway that led to a dark wooden door with a large, brass number 4. He pulled out his keys, fumbling a little bit with the lock, which made her smile.

Ben’s apartment was an airy space — exposed brick and high ceilings with wood beams running across. The kitchen was modern and made for cooking — a gas range, large fridge, and every kind of knife or size of wooden spoon one could want. The living room had a green velvet couch and a dark brown leather armchair. Bookshelves lining the walls. An ornate, vintage-looking rug. It felt a lot like the cabin — warm and inviting. Like you could sit and read for hours. There was a door to one side that she imagined lead to the bedroom. She swallowed and turned to find Ben watching her, the tiniest bit of pink ears visible.

“Your place is incredible,” she said, cradling the helmet against her stomach. Just as she realized she was doing it he took it from her hands and placed it on a console table by the door. He shucked his jacked and hung it in a small closet, then held out a hand for hers.

“It was my parents’ place for a while. I started renting it from them a few years ago when the HOA fees on my last apartment became a little too much.” He shifted his weight then took off his boots, placing them on a mat by the door. She put hers there, too, lining them up neatly.

Ben walked towards the far wall and a bar cart that stood between the windows, then selected a bottle and grabbed two glasses. She watched him take the glasses to the kitchen and add a single orb-shaped ice cube to each. Then he poured a few fingers’ worth of whiskey and handed a glass to her.

It tasted of shortbread and cinnamon and something earthy. The liquor warmed her, and she stripped Ben’s sweater off and folded it neatly on the small dining table.

Everything she could see had a place and a purpose, but there was beauty, too. The lines of seaming on the couch. The patterns the spines of his books made. The glow of the lights, hazy like candles.

Ben watched her, an intensity in his gaze.

“What?” She asked as she sidestepped between him and the cabinets. Rey hopped onto the counter, letting her knees brush against his legs, and looked up at him with bright eyes.

“You do this thing—“

“Oh god, do I make a weird face or something?”

“No—you just…you observe in a way that most people don’t. I like watching you take in your surroundings. It’s like you appreciate the details in the minutiae.”

He placed a hand on either side of her body, leaning his tall frame over her until their faces were level.

“That’s me. Observant and detail-oriented. Top qualifications on my CV.”

Ben laughed, the low, rough chuckle that she felt in her knees. She licked her lips without meaning to and he smirked at her but didn’t move.

“Are you just going to loom over me?” She said, reaching for the hem of his shirt and pulling him closer, against her legs.

“You know you can just take whatever you want,” he replied, trailing his index finger from her elbow and up to her shoulder, moving across her collarbone before pressing lightly on her pulse. She shivered and put her lips to his.

They started slow, with sweet presses and gentle tilts of the head. He took her braid out with adept fingers and lingered at her scalp to massage sensuous circles, relieving the tension. He nipped her bottom lip, opening her mouth on a gasp to slip his tongue inside, coaxing little sighs and moans from low in her throat. It was the taste of whiskey and promise of sin. He brushed her knee aside as casually as if he was browsing the racks at whatever store he purchased the luxuriously soft shirts he wore and stepped into the open space, smirking against her lips when the pressure of her knees bracketed his hips. As if he belonged there all along. She reached for his shirt, curling the thin material in one hand and pulling the hair at the nape of his neck to press him closer to her. He cradled her jaw with one hand, tasting her as he wrapped one of her legs around him.

Their bodies molded together and Rey wanted them to connect at every point of contact. She shimmied to the edge of the counter, unsurprised when her center met the hard length of him. She reveled in the friction, eliciting a brief pause in his lips’ movements before he began dragging them across her cheek and down her neck, sucking gently beneath her ear. His hand roamed from where it held her leg to him, up to the edge of her shirt — which was his shirt — then continued its journey higher, over the smooth skin of her stomach and slowly dancing over her ribs. Stopping to graze the lace of her bralette before cupping her softly, his thumb pressing the curve of her breast. She gasped at the touch and could feel the heat building at her core. The fire moved through her veins, singing, setting everything alight. She brought his lips back to hers and kissed him fiercely, leaning back against the cabinet to bring him even closer, to explore the silken feeling of his tongue against hers.

It began to dawn on her that they were both wearing too many clothes. She started to tug on his shirt, moving her lips just a fraction so that she could whisper, “Off. I want this off,” against his mouth.

He kissed her hard and did as he was told, tossing the shirt somewhere that didn’t matter to her because when he brought his hands back to her body, he brushed his thumb over her hardened nipple. She hissed and raked her nails across his torso, feeling the softness of his skin and the taut sculpt of his muscles. Dancing her eyes across the scattered moles on his face and chest.

Somehow her shirt floated over her head, tossed away. And they were kissing again, breathless and insatiable. Her breasts were small in his capable hands, and he rolled her nipples between his thumb and forefinger while she squirmed beneath him, pressing her chest closer. Her backside was barely perched on the counter, legs gripping around Ben while he pressed himself firmly to her, moaning against her neck.

She reached for his hair and corded her fingers through the strands, pulling hard to bring him back to her lips. They gasped between kisses and she rolled her hips, chasing the delicious friction of his erection against her. He jerked his own hips into her once, giving her just a taste, a sinful tease of what she craved, before stepping just far enough to be out of reach. She huffed, ready with wild protest, when he cupped her intimately, his fingers digging the seam of her jeans against the tight bundle of nerves that sang with his attention.

The sensation caught her so off guard that her head knocked into the cabinet behind her while she gasped.

“Ow,” she said, extending the word on an exhale. His fingers pressed and dragged across her center, then moved to unbutton her jeans. He worked the zipper down, then held onto the waistband on either side. They locked eyes and she shifted enough for him to tug her jeans down. They were tight — she had to jump a little to get them over her ass when she put them on — but he was determined and pulled them down to her ankles, holding her calf while he removed them one leg at a time until they dropped to the floor. A heap of black denim on his pristine hardwood floor. He ducked his head, leaving a kiss on the inside of her knee before pushing it to open her legs wider.

In that moment she saw the heat in his eyes, that he had knelt in front of her, still tall enough that his face was level with her stomach. Hands reaching for the elastic waistband of her underwear. She was silently glad that the pair she’d selected today, every day, were black and the damp arousal she knew was there wouldn’t be as visible, however briefly. He eased her out of them and let them drop to the floor with the rest of her clothes. Then he hooked his arms around her thighs and spread them open, baring herself to him fully.

Normally, she would feel shy. Normally, she would blush and try to close her legs, even if they trembled like they did now. Normally, she would avert her gaze if a man made the effort.

But nothing had felt normal with Ben — not from the moment he offered to help her pour beers at the Resistance. She could be bolder with him. Climb on the back of a motorcycle. Feel more deeply. Theirs was a level of trust that felt rare.

She held his gaze as he leaned forward, keeping his dark eyes on hers as he kissed one of her thighs, mouthing the skin until she whimpered with anticipation. Before she could look back at him she felt the warm press of his tongue, dragging from her entrance to her clit. His fingers firm against her thighs while he nuzzled with his strong nose, lips and tongue exploring her in bold strokes and soft, open mouth kisses. Her breath came in short pants and kittenish mewls sounded from behind her lips.

The sounds he pulled from her encouraged him to find the aching nerves of her swollen clit and swirl his tongue around it, taking it into his mouth and sucking. It was lightning crashing through her as she started to reach her peak — a pulsing heat she wanted to chase as it flashed again and again. One of his hands left her thigh and traced a path upward, a thick finger pressing into her as she gasped and grabbed onto his crown to stay upright, pulling on his hair like reins. Her body relaxed and fell forward, fully held in place by Ben’s hand on her thigh and his shoulders bracing her legs.

He set an agonizing pace, his mouth and fingers working in tandem while she bit her lower lip, trying to keep the scream that was building in her core from piercing through. Then he added another finger, dragging against her with a curling motion. As he sucked once more his fingers hit a place that she’d only known with practiced effort, elusive and sometimes just a little out of reach. But she didn’t have to tell him what to do — her body sang with his touch, moved to chase the sensation he was providing. As his tongue circled her clit again, pressing firmly while his fingers curled, the rush of starlight burned through her, crashing behind her eyes in a husky moan. She released her lip and panted, willing her breath to stabilize as he slowly, so torturously slowly, teased her through the end of her orgasm. Withdrawing his fingers only to lazily pet her while he kissed the inside of her thigh. No doubt leaving marks where he’d been.

It was never this easy before, to find a rhythm with another person. Without the fumbling and awkward angles and the strangeness of giving instruction when what you sought was pleasure. To feel the truly uninhibited release. She was comfortable, blissfully so, and that wasn’t normal, either. But even knowing how different everything was with Ben, she still felt safe, at home.

Rey caught her breath and reluctantly let go of his hair, resting her hand on his shoulder. When he stood to his full height she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. The molten brown of his irises blown out to a thin ring around black pupils, wide and fiery. In a smooth motion he hooked her legs around his waist and pressed her against his chest, moving her from the counter and fully into his arms as he kissed her.

There was a new taste to his kiss that only made her groan, knowing where it was from and the echo of pleasure that still thrummed through her. She wanted him to place her on the couch and push her into the velvet, feel it against her skin. But when she peeled her lips from his to nibble one of those adorably large ears, she saw his intent was his bedroom.

Much like the rest of his apartment, it defied her expectations. Instead of black, silk sheets and a glass fireplace there was a large bed, made pristine with white pillows and a dark wood frame. There were matching nightstands and a door to a large bathroom and possibly a closet — she hit the bed before she could be sure and laughed.

“Sorry,” Ben said, crawling over her. He reached above her head to toss some throw pillows to the floor as he kissed her, both of them smiling and laughing beneath the kiss as the pillows thumped to the floor. Maybe it was the lingering pleasure or the promise of more or something else entirely, but Rey was incandescent — a large grin took over her face as she looked at the man who gave it to her. He stood at the foot of the bed, hands stilling on his belt.

“What?” He asked, a crooked grin on his own face, so much younger like this.

“Nothing, just—” she laughed, sitting up and pressing a hand to her mouth. The nerves she was used to feeling with a new partner never came. It was easy and for once she wasn’t afraid of what that meant. The boxes in her mind were stacked neatly in the background. All at the front was joy — joy from white duvets and full lips and strong hands and a caring family’s welcome.

“I’m happy,” she said. He looked at her with clear eyes, lips closing over his teeth in a solemn smile.

“Me too.”

They looked at each other a moment, him pensive and her elated.

“Do you know what would make me happier?”she asked, looking up at him beneath her lashes.

“Rey, if you say a snack when you’re naked on my bed I swear to—“

“If you took off your jeans and were naked too,” she said over him, reaching an arm to unhook her bralette and throw the black lace towards him. It landed at the end of the bed and he picked it up, feeling the lace between his fingers for a moment before dropping it and shucking his pants and socks off. He started to climb back on the bed—

“Uh-uh!” She waved her finger at him and he stopped, one knee on the mattress. “Those too.”

Rey nodded towards his black boxer briefs and the sizable bulge at the front of the fabric.

He half rolled his eyes and removed them.

In college Rey took many figure drawing classes. She had seen her fair share of dicks of all types and sizes and shapes and grooming habits. After a while, she could predict a man’s size before he disrobed — both in her art classes and with previous partners. He was a large man — tall and broad — and proportional where she expected him to be. Though she wasn’t surprised, she was extremely pleased.

He placed a knee on the bed and she struggled to look at his face when he spoke.

“Happy?”

She pounced, pulling him on top of her and relishing the weight of his body against hers. The smooth, dusky skin of his cock in her hand. His mouth on her breast, teasing her nipple. He pressed her into the bed, sliding a hand between her legs to caress her there. She was slick with want, and slung her leg around his thighs to bring him closer. But he worked her further, until she was begging him for more.

He stretched across her to the nightstand and pulled a condom from the drawer, opening it swiftly with his teeth. Once he had it on he kissed her deeply, his tongue delving in her mouth and teeth nibbling her lower lip.

She cradled him between her legs and he aligned himself, notching the tip to her entrance and thrusting inside. They both breathed against each other as he pressed in further, letting her body adjust.

She never knew she could feel so many things at once. The slow journey of a bead of sweat from her nape, trickling down her back before it meets his thumb, pressed against her spine. The huff of his breath, warm against her temple, as his lips caressed her forehead in an almost kiss. The tingling sensation that reached from the tips of her toes all the way through her, up to her scalp. The sharpness of his hipbone against her as he rocked into her slowly.

Her hips bucked to take him deeper, her fingers digging into his arm. One of her legs lifted higher, wrapping tightly around his back and pushing on him with her heel.

“Faster?” he asked, lips grazing her ear and then her jaw before claiming her own. She nodded while their mouths met, holding him as he pulled out slightly and slammed back in.

He pressed a hand to her lower back, angling her hips as she met his thrusts. She clenched around him and lost herself to the feelings of bliss. With finesse he managed to sneak his other hand between their bodies to strum at her, bringing her back to that place of starbursts and electricity. The hand at her back moved the angle again, pushing her knee towards her chest as he sunk in even deeper, teasing the place he found earlier with clever fingers. Her thoughts stuttered — eyes closed with a moan, her fingers clinging wherever she could grip.

Ben clasped her hand in his, holding them above their heads and kissing her once more, less controlled now.

“Look at me,” he ground out, sweat at his brow. She locked her eyes on his, lashes fluttering. With a few rapid thrusts and swift circles of his fingers on her clit, she felt herself shatter around him with a silent scream. It was the sharp spark of creativity when she painted. The warmth of a hot bath after a long day at the Resistance. The sparkling thrill that sang through her blood, beating a steady stream of _Ben. Ben. Ben._

She felt as if she’d melted into a boneless husk of sensation. The fluttering in her core kept him seated as he sheathed himself a few more times before she felt his release. With a half groan, half growl he collapsed on top of her for a moment before sliding out and pulling her into his arms, her head cradled against his chest.

He traced shapes down her arm and across her shoulders. Rey mumbled incoherently against his pecs, dropping a kiss and nuzzling closer.

“Remind me to add two days of foreplay to my calendar from now on,” Ben said against the top of her head.

* * *

After a shower — handsy and playful; washing her days old clothes — strangely domestic; and sleeping tangled together — followed by an early morning second round, Rey had to disentangle herself from Ben so that he could go to work and she could go home and then to the artist’s studio she was now a member of.

She sent texts to her friends, assuring them that she was good, thanks, just positively debauched. It was Tuesday, so she had to be at the Resistance by four and she wanted a few hours with a brush in her hand before that.

The loft was bright and airy, with huge windows lining three of the four walls. Sunlight streamed in, and there was a buzz of city sounds all around her. The space was taped off into work stations and Rey soon found the one that Bodhi had reserved for her and put her bags down. There were a few watering cans next to a utility sink near the door. She filled one and brought it back with her. She waved to the artists who caught her eye, but everyone seemed to be in deep focus. It was more serious than she was expecting, but she was glad for the quiet. As much as she enjoyed talking to people, when her veins were itching to paint she didn’t have the patience for much else.

The canvas she had delivered was three feet by four feet, nearly twice as large as the canvases she was able to work with from the apartment. It was like unwrapping a present on Christmas morning, she imagined, when she ripped the brown paper to reveal the creamy cloth. There were several spare easels in the loft and she found one that wasn’t wobbly and hauled it over to her workspace. The floor was concrete and splattered with paint of every color. A few other artists were working in their own areas. Some had headphones on, dancing to a melody Rey couldn’t hear while they worked.

She set up her cups of water and lined her brushes by size, globbed paints onto her palette and started mixing. All through her mind she saw Ben — talking at the cabin and riding the motorcycle into the woods and the feel of his skin against hers.

A quick wash of black across the top and bottom of the canvas and the middle edges. A blur of deepest navy at the center, nearly black. She spent a long time blending and adding flecks of starlight, flicking the hairs of a brush so that the white paint scattered across the canvas. Then she began to create a galaxy all her own. A clash of blue and red, colliding into rich purple sparks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote and edited and talked to destinies and inky_pens about this chapter all while visiting my mother in a very small house. "What are you working on?" 👁👄👁
> 
> There aren't any of my usual reference notes because this chapter was 75% smut.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey introduces Ben to her friends and learns that, for a city so large, the world is rather small.

Rey sipped on a large cup of coffee. She was perched on the edge of the counter at Ben’s apartment — he had a kitchen towel tossed over a shoulder and eggs cooking on the stovetop. Bacon crisped in the oven, a delicious scent on the air from the crackling. A bowl of washed strawberries by the sink.

She had spent the night more than once this last week, feeling a little bit guilty for only seeing Rose in passing. But Rose was rarely home herself these days, spending a lot of time at Hux’s place. They had mutually agreed that it was time for a girls night in — and time for Ben to meet Rey’s friends.

“So Finn teaches dance at this arts school and loves talking about his students. He’s so proud hell probably show you some videos,” she said, taking another drink of coffee and swinging her legs against the cabinets. “They all call him Sir because of the whole military school thing but really he’s a softie. His boyfriend, Poe, can be a little intense—“

“Poe?” Ben looked up at her, stirring the eggs with concentration. Probably using some method learned from a fancy French cooking tutorial.

“Yeah, I guess his parents must be literary, to have named him something like that—“

“No, it’s just—if you’re talking about Poe Dameron, I know him.”

She swallowed quickly, burning her throat in the process. “ _What_? How?”

“I haven’t seen him in years but his parents ran this non-profit and they helped my mom start her foundation when I was a kid. Fuck, New York is small. What’s he doing these days? Last I saw him we were, I dunno, fifteen? Back then he wanted to ride skateboards forever and flirt with anything that breathed.”

“Can’t picture him on a skateboard but the rest tracks. He works at the Alliance with their youth outreach, mainly.”

Ben nodded. “Well, at least I’ll have a familiar face at the interrogation. Can’t say if it’ll be a friendly one. We only hung out because of our folks.”

“Did all your tattoos intimidate him?”

“Rey, you now know for certain that I have none.”

“Hmmm…not sure I inspected you thoroughly enough. You’ll have to show me again.”

He pulled the bacon from the oven and set it aside to cool. He knew Rey liked a lot of cheese in her scrambled eggs and indulged her with freshly grated cheddar folded in. For her part, she had set the small dining table with silverware and napkins folded on a diagonal into neat triangles. Now she enjoyed her coffee and the sight of her painting against the brick wall of his living room.

When she’d finished the larger piece she couldn’t imagine selling it. There was too much Ben in it — the sweeping strokes of her brush and the flecks of stars and the coupling of red and blue to create violet. She’d struggled to carry it on the L and then the 6, from the Williamsburg loft to his East Village apartment. More than a few passengers glared at her along the way, grumbling about space in the car. But when he opened the door and she brought the painting in, he sat on the couch with his hands folded at the knee while she worked up the courage to unwrap it. When the colors were revealed she tried to explain it but faltered — her paintings were mostly feeling, not concrete thought. Kaydel could always find a way to talk about her technique and the evocative sweeps of color and use of light and other art world phrases. But when Rey had to talk about it herself she didn’t always have much to say. She wanted the painting to say it for her.

“I know it just looks like space but that’s not…” she swallowed. “It’s— It’s how it feels when I’m with you,” she had said in a whisper.

Ben had rubbed a hand over his jaw, covering his mouth as he stared at it in silence for minutes or hours. His eyes were lined in silver when he thanked her for it with a gentle kiss that soon burned deeper.

Seeing it hanging in his apartment felt like part of her was here even when she was not. A permanent place in someone else’s home. Different from the thought of her paintings in whoever had purchased them’s houses.

“And Rosie I’ve told you all about. Her bloke’s a lawyer and a bit awkward but I’m starting to like him,” Rey said, reaching for the full plate Ben handed her.

“I shutter to think how I’ve been described to these people,” he said, taking the seat across from her and draping his napkin in his lap. Rey curled her own in a fist and tucked in, mouthfuls of eggs still steaming on the way down.

“Oh, just the usual. Big, brooding secret nerd obsessed with his hair—” Ben brought a hand to it then lowered it with wide eyes. Rey laughed. “I told them you cook me elaborate meals even though you’ve already gotten me into bed. That you have a printed subscription to _The Guardian_ and _The New York Times_ like some old man who doesn’t realize you can just get a digital subscription. That your wardrobe is entirely black, except for that one ratty old green Galaxy Wars t-shirt you keep hidden at the bottom of the third drawer—“

“You’re such a snoop!” He snatched a piece of bacon from her plate and she squawked, taking one from his plate and chomping on it with gusto.

“You take exceptionally long showers sometimes — I know it’s because of the hair,” she said, grinning. “Deep conditioning treatments have to sit for at least twenty minutes, I imagine.”

“What time is it?” He asked suddenly, dropping his napkin on the table.

She glanced at the microwave. “It’s 8:17.”

Ben pushed his chair back, took final swig of coffee, then yanked her out of her own chair, planting a firm kiss on her giggling lips. “Just enough time for one of those long showers before work, then,” he said, trailing a path down her neck to her collarbone before scooping her into his arms and carrying her to the bedroom. Half-eaten breakfast plates abandoned. Laughter echoing through the apartment.

* * *

Rey turned down a courier gig so that she could spend the morning painting at the studio. It was a Thursday, and the only other person in the space was a quiet, older man who made clay sculptures in a corner. He had an old radio with him playing a crackly station of crooners and jazz standards. Occasionally she could hear him singing along under his breath.

Today she put headphones on and spread her paints across her work station, nodding to the beat. She had told Kaydel she would have another painting this week. At the moment, all of her paintings had sold and three of them were on loan to galleries in London, Miami, and Toronto. Kaydel encouraged Rey to experiment with her style if she wished, now that she had a small pool of admirers. Chirrut and Baze hadn’t outbid the buyer from the art show at K2SO and Rey wanted to finish the painting she had started for them a few weeks ago.

She thought about Chirrut’s art installation as she painted for him, hoping to evoke the feelings his work inspired in herself. In between adding details to that painting she began another large scale piece, bright and colorful smatterings of dust across a black starscape.

The hours passed as she worked, swirling her brush in carefully mixed tones of periwinkle and cedar and orchid. Washing the hues across the canvas. Flecking trails of starlight from one corner to the next. Before long the alarm she set blared, pulling her from the finishing touches to silence it. Then, she took the thinnest brush and signed the lower righthand corner — _RJ._

She snapped a quick photo for Kaydel, who almost immediately replied and copied Bodhi. In the twenty minutes it took Rey to clean her space, the curator and the agent had agreed upon a listing fee and Bodhi had dispatched a courier to pick up the painting the next day, once it had dried fully.

Rey tapped out a quick reply, a bit overwhelmed by the urgency of it all but excited nonetheless. She texted Ben the news, then confirmed the time with Rose for the big friend showdown. There was just enough time to run home, scrub the paint from her skin, and meet Ben at his apartment for a quick dinner. He was running behind at work and had sent her a menu for takeout that she perused on the train over. It was crowded, and she was jostled between passengers as she tried to scroll through the options.

They ate soup dumplings and pork buns and sipped sparkling water with little wedges of lime. Rey hogged the spicy mustard and Ben checked his watch every few minutes. She couldn’t help but smile, knowing he was a bit nervous. When she first knocked on the door he was in a suit, barely home from the office. It was immaculate black, with a black shirt and no tie. The top few buttons undone. A few moles visible on the skin at his chest. Now he had changed into a thin black crewneck. It was a little worn at the hem of the sleeves. She took his hand and held it in both of hers.

“Benniford,” she said, and he rolled his eyes, “what topic do you bring up to guarantee that any stilted conversation picks up?”

“Dameron’s hair?”

“Besides that.”

“First, I ask Rose about the salted caramel brownies. Once she’s finished, I ask Finn about the competition he’s judging this weekend in Jersey City.”

She kissed him. “Good boy,” she said, thumbing the fabric of his sweater. “You know you have a hole in this, right?”

He frowned, pulling it from her hands to examine it.

“We’ll be late if we don’t head over now, it’s 12 blocks,” she said.

Ben sighed. “At least this place is dark enough no one will notice.”

“Exactly. No one will notice me poking your stomach all night just to tickle you—“

He slung her over his shoulder, fireman style, and marched her to the door. “Let’s go, Miss _We’ll Be Late_. No more of your smart mouth until we get home.”

Rey’s heart skipped — what did he say?

Ben must not have noticed, because he set her down so that she could put her boots on. While she laced them her brain repeated _until we get home. We. Home._

He held her coat for her and she slipped her arms in. Pulling her hair from beneath the collar. _Until we get home._

The First Light was a small, ambient cocktail bar with an extensive gin list and colorful glass lamps suspended from the ceiling, giving everything a warm glow. The staff wore vintage-inspired clothes — suspenders and bow ties and tiered drop waist dresses with long strands of pearls. Drinks were served in delicate coups and sharp martini glasses. The cash register was an ornate antique with brass finishings.

The first time Rey had been here it was on a date that did not go particularly well. A lot of “So where did you go to school?” and “Oh, I have a brother who lives in D.C.” and “Why would you order _that_?” She came back with Rose a few times for girls’ nights, meeting up with Cara whenever she was in town for conferences. There wasn’t a better bar for a Negroni in the winter, a gin martini in the fall, or an elderflower gimlet in the summer.

Ben and Rey were the first to arrive, claiming a corner of the bar and two stools. Ben rested a hand on the walnut surface and signaled for the bartender. He lightly held the small of her back while they looked at the menu.

“Not sure how adventurous I feel like being. What about you?”

She considered the offerings in front of her, lots of herbs and infused liquors. “Martini, very dry. And extra olives.”

“Your first snack of the evening?”

Rey poked him in the hole of his sweater and he yelped, loudly enough that the bartender came back over to take their orders.

They were having a murmured conversation when Finn and Poe greeted them, shaking hands with Ben and giving Rey warm hugs. Poe ordered their drinks while Rey properly introduced Finn to Ben. It took a moment to get through the small talk — how was the train ride, where did you say your school was, Rey said you do something with spreadsheets — but soon things were easy. She’d alerted Finn that Ben knew Poe, and that seemed to help with awkwardness. Poe had likely filled Finn in on his history with Ben, which gave them a bit more to talk about off the bat.

While she let them catch up about their parents and other shared topics, Rey checked the Resistance’s email. The day before she and Maz had met with Dopheld Mitaka to go over the bar’s financials. He focused a lot of energy on his insisted inspection of the space — Rey was surprised he didn’t pull out a pair of white gloves to check the dust behind the register. Then he asked questions about future profitability and partnerships with brands and all manner of things that gave Rey a headache and caused Maz to frown behind her thick spectacles. After a couple of hours of his droning and note-taking he left with a curt nod and the promise to be in touch. Only to send an email that very night requesting further data. He wanted to see timesheets for all employees compared to bar sales. Their last six months of orders. It was endless. She sent a quick reply that she would have the information for him within a few days. Calm your pants, she wanted to sign off.

Rose entered the bar with a huge smile on her face, eyes locked on Rey and Ben behind her. She gave Rey the briefest of hugs before standing in front of Ben, hands on her hips.

“You,” she said.

Ben had the wherewithal to glance over his shoulder and point at his chest. “Me?”

“I can’t believe you’re as tall as Rey said you were, I thought she was exaggerating.”

“I never exaggerate! I’m an artist. I know about proportions—“

“You go talk to Finn while Ben and I get a drink,” Rose said, looping her arm around Ben’s and leading him to the bar. He took Rey’s empty glass on the way, eyes wide and brows climbing.

“How long before he makes an excuse and leaves?” Finn said over Rey’s shoulder.

“I give it 8 minutes, no less,” Poe said, unbuttoning his collar. He wore a suit today, which must have meant he was in meetings with donors instead of in the field like he preferred.

The three of them watched Rose and Ben, who seemed to be talking animatedly despite the height difference.

“Hmmm…I take that back,” Finn said, taking another swallow of his drink. “I think if we don’t watch out Rosie will hog him the whole night and we won’t have a chance to ask him about his priors.”

“As long as they’re smiling, I’m happy,” Rey said. And she was.

For nearly twenty minutes Rose monopolized Ben’s time at the bar and Rey couldn’t help but glance over to assess them. It was important to her that they get along. Perhaps even more so than Finn and certainly more than Poe, who she liked just fine. Finn’s opinion was important to her, yes, but Rose was a good judge of character. It only took her minutes to determine someone’s worth in a way that others couldn’t. It was like she could see your heart, resting outside your body. What it was made of and how big it was. Rey thought she knew what Ben’s heart was made of. _Until we get home_.

Rose at last returned him to the group, holding a half-full Negroni. Soon they were all chatting and Rey found herself quite pleased. Poe had helped put Ben at ease, and even though Finn could be a bit protective they seemed to have gotten along. Ben loved the danced videos Finn showed him and she knew it was genuine based on the little crinkle to his eyes when smiled. Rose kept beaming at him and asking questions that he answered warmly. From time to time he’d run a finger across the small of her back and she’d lean into the touch.

Hux arrived late, kissing Rose in greeting. Rey looked up at Ben, ready to make the introduction. He seemed a little tense. It was a lot to take in — meeting so many new people in one go. Rey certainly didn’t look forward to meeting his friends either.

“The last of our party finally arrives,” Finn said, clapping Hux on the shoulder. The ginger gave a half smile half cringe, then looked back to Rey and Ben, confusion on his brow.

“Hi, Ben Solo,” he said, holding out his hand. His lips were slightly pursed, and Hux looked from his expression to his hand before gripping it in a brief but firm shake.

“Armitage Hux, esquire.”

Rose snorted. “Armie, you don’t have to constantly remind people that you’re a lawyer.”

“Good to meet you,” Ben said with a nod, then turned back to Poe and started asking him questions about his current project.

Rose and Rey exchanged a look and Rey shrugged. Men were weird.

For most of the night Ben kept up conversation with Finn and Poe, genuinely interested in Poe’s work and at least somewhat intrigued by Finn’s. Rey could tell that Rose wanted more time with him, but she seemed happy to observe from her seat at the bar with her boyfriend. They talked with Rey about her latest pieces, Rose’s new colleague, and Hux’s grievance with his upstairs neighbor.

“You would think a herd of elephants lived there — or maybe several small children,” he sneered, sipping at his drink. “Instead it is a single man in his late 50s. Whenever I confront him about his incessant stomping he just glares at me, calls me petulant and slams the door in my face!”

Rey laughed, picturing a sputtering Hux at the other end of a closed door. “Perhaps you should start leaving notes?”

“I have written several! To Mr. Pryde and to the super. They have all been dismissed without response. I am very nearly prepared to file a formal complaint with the co-op board—“

“Armie, you just need to ask nicely that he be more considerate,” Rose said, her hand on his shoulder.

“I _have_ asked nicely!”

“I think you’ve asked in your lawyer voice. Maybe you should ask in your bedroom voice—“

“Rose!”

While Rey cackled, Hux glanced around, taking in any listening ears before whispering something to Rose. Ben caught Rey’s eye, the corner of his mouth lifted. She wedged herself between Ben and Poe, slipping her arm around his waist. Ben put his own around her shoulder, tucking her into his side. With a slow trail of her finger she touched the hole in his sweater and chuckled.

He leaned down and whispered, “What’s so funny, Freckles?”

_Until we get home._

“Lots of things,” she said, squeezing his hip.

They stayed at the bar for a few hours, casually sipping cocktails while her friends alternated between light interrogation and playful chit chat. Soon Rose and Armitage left — he had an early meeting with a client and continued to grumble about his neighbor and the very little sleep he was guaranteed to get that night. Rose made a suggestion about little sleep that left his face the shade of a ripe tomato, clashing with his ginger hair.

One more round of drinks with Finn and Poe and then they, too, made their exits. Finn and Poe walked with them as far as Astor Place before hopping the 6 to Poe’s apartment in East Harlem. For the last few blocks Ben and Rey talked about the two who had just left.

“It must have been nice to catch up with Poe after all these years,” Rey said. It was nearing midnight but the streets were still abuzz with people finishing late dinners and hustling towards the subway. They held hands as the wove through the sidewalks.

“He’s still just as bull-headed but Dameron’s passionate about helping people. It’s quite admirable,” Ben replied.

“He and I did not get on for a while,” Rey admitted. Finn said it was because they were both stubborn. Rey thought it was because Poe could be full of himself and dismissive of others’ opinions. But soon she learned that he liked to debate, and he wasn’t dismissive so much as eager to share his visions for a better world. Even if that better world was something as simple as Rey’s favorite Chinese place overcooking the green beans in his vegetable delight, to his great displeasure.

Ben smiled. “I can see that.”

She tried not to grimace at how well he already seemed to know her. “Eventually we learned how to coexist and now we’re almost friends.”

“Almost?” He asked as he reached for his keys.

“Well, I’m not about to call him up to watch a BBC drama and drink wine but I do respect his opinion. Most of the time,” she added.

Once they were back in his apartment she took her boots off and hung her coat in the closet. Ben poured them some water. _Until we get home_.

“Did you get to talk to Armitage much?” Rey asked as they moved to the bedroom. Ben slipped into the bathroom and opened and closed cabinets.

“A bit, yeah,” he called. While he went about his nightly routine Rey changed for bed, pulling on one of his t-shirts and wrapping herself in his scent. She joined him in the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face, borrowing his products.

“He’s a bit awkward at first but I think he’s alright.” Ben brushed his teeth vigorously and nodded in the mirror while she talked. “And he adores Rose. I don’t think she’s ever been with someone who treats her so well. It’s nice to see her so happy even if he’s an acquired taste.”

He spat and rinsed the sink, handing her the toothpaste.

“Seems like a decent guy, then. Rose is great, how can you not love Rose? Such a spitfire—”

“She wanted to talk to you more but I think the boys were hogging your attention.”

“Well then next time we’ll just do something with Rose. The three of us.”

“I’m not sure she’d want to be the third wheel…Besides, she’s been insisting on a double date with Armitage since about the night we met.”

“We’ll figure something out. Geez, it’s late,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve got an early meeting. You’re at the bar tomorrow night? You can sleep in.”

_Until we get home._

“I have to water plants in the morning so I’ll be up and out as well,” she said. “Lots of orchids waiting for me. They’re quite needy. Constantly acquire my attention.” She wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him at arm’s length and looking up into his dark eyes.

“To bed for you, then.”

When he kissed her, she reached into her mind for the box labelled _Ben_ — it wasn’t a large cardboard box like her childhood traumas or the neat, patterned shoebox where she kept her friends. It was small and made of dark wood. Lined with forest green and the feeling of pine needles beneath her boots. The sound of leaves rustling in the wind. The dappled bits of sunlight through lush boughs.Smoke curling from a stone chimney. She opened it and tucked in the words that echoed —

_Until we get home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! We're a little more than halfway in the story and I'm so grateful for every kudos and comment. Truly. It's the encouragement every write craves and I don't take it for granted for a second so thank you.
> 
> The First Light is the name of [Dryden Vos’ ship](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/First_Light) in _Solo_. It’s first and foremost a pleasure barge, and felt fitting for a fancy cocktail bar in SoHo. Also, as you should know by now, I really love _Solo_. It's a delight. 
> 
> Hux’s neighbor is [Pryde](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Enric_Pryde), from whatever that thing was.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the midst of a period of bliss with her new beau, Rey receives an invitation to an important event.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to the last chapter was so unexpected -- thank you for all of your comments! I reread them whenever I need a pick-me-up and they always warm my heart. We're in the last half of the story and these next chapters will move fairly quickly. My initial estimate of 20 chapters (based on the original outline) seems to be holding strong! I can't wait to share the rest.

There were a lot of reasons to hate the alarm on her phone, Rey thought. It was a savage way to wake up — trilling bells mere inches from your ear, jolting you awake. She much preferred the slow way Ben woke her up.

First he would trace soothing lines across her back and arms. Once she moved, even if it was just to lean into his touch, he would pull her closer, a broad hand across her midriff. A soft breath at her ear, whispered endearments and praise. She would reach her arm back to cord her fingers through his soft hair and kiss him over her shoulder. Plush lips opening for her, teeth nipping.

Limbs wrapped together, lazily touching each other and coaxing the flecks of starlight behind her eyes as he worked her. Her leg draped over his hip so that he could press into her. Unhurried as she rocked her hips into his. Her lips making a path from each mole across his chest, up his neck, and across his cheeks. The hungry strokes of his tongue on hers echoed in the circles of his fingers on her clit. 

A slow burn orgasm was far superior to an alarm clock.

After a quick shower, Rey lounged in Ben’s bed, her long legs tangled in the crisp white sheets, her damp hair leaving a halo on the pillow. She’d just sent Rose a particularly hilarious meme about lawyers when an email from Kaydel arrived. It was marked URGENT, but most emails from her agent were.

“Oi! What are you doing on the 21st of December? It’s a Saturday.” She called to Ben. He poked his head out of his closet, half dressed. Just the way she liked him.

“I’m going to be in Chicago that week. My boss wants me to take over one of his deals out there and I couldn’t exactly refuse.” His jaw clenched an infinitesimal amount as he pulled on a black shirt, methodically buttoning it up and tucking it into his black trousers.

“But who will feed and water me while you’re away? Take me for walks and give me attention?” She crossed her arms and feigned a pout, which only made him laugh.

Ben pressed a kiss to her forehead, his thumb resting at the nape of her neck. “I think you’ll be okay, Freckles. What’s happening on the 18th?”

“Some event Kaydel wants me to attend. I’ll think about it. To be honest I’m a bit worn out from all of these openings. I’ve barely have time to paint and I had to give up courier gigs and get my shifts with Takodana covered for rest of the month—“

“Rey, you’re making consistent money from your art and you’re still at the Resistance most days. Might be time to leave the plants in favor of time at the studio.”

She sighed, combing her hands through the tangled ends of her hair before giving up and wrapping it into a bun.“Why do you have to be so financially logical?”

“Because it’s my job and as much as I may hate it I _am_ good at it.” He kissed her again then crossed to his dresser, selecting a watch for the day. Ben always wore a watch. It was old-fashioned and charming. He had some that were fancy pilot’s watches and others that were vintage. Today he chose one of the more simple ones — gold hardware and a black leather band. There was an engraving on the back of his grandfather’s initials. If he was wearing that watch today, there was a reason. He seemed to reach for it when his day started early, with meetings.

“Maybe I could give a few things up,” she said, twisting the sheet in her hands.

While Ben put on socks and shoes she got dressed and padded barefoot into the kitchen for coffee. Ben’s mug was already rinsed and put in the dishwasher, but hers was on the counter. Full of coffee that had cooled to her preferred temperature. She emailed Kaydel with her concerns about meeting demands and politely declined the invitation to the event.

It seemed no sooner had she hit send that the woman in question called her. Rey didn’t have a second to say hello before Kaydel started speaking.

“What do you mean you can’t make it? Rey, darling, do you have any idea how big of a deal this is?”

“Hello, Kaydel, good morning. I’m doing well and yourself?” Rey deadpanned, rummaging in the pantry for something to eat.

“Yeah yeah whatever. Rey— this is the _Serreno Gala_ we’re talking about! It might as well be the precursor to the Met Gala for fuck’s sake. No one turns down an invitation to the Serreno Gala. It’s the last event of the year and I need you there with — _Excuse me_!”

Kaydel was clearly walking somewhere — the cacophony of midtown blazed in the background.

“You know I’m not the best at small talk…And I just feel like attending these functions isn’t as worth my time as painting—“

“Ahsoka Tano will be there, Rey. I’ve already spoken with her agent and she’s looking forward to meeting you.”

“I—what?” Rey dropped her half-eaten granola bar on the pristine hardwood floor, scattering oats and chocolate chips across the kitchen.

“She saw your art. She wants to meet you. I think you might be able to learn a lot from her. She’s a master—“

“Sorry, this is just…Ahsoka Tano wants to meet _me_? But I’m nobody.” She said

“You’re coming to the Gala. I’ll send you some ideas for attire — it’s black tie.”

Rey nodded as Kaydel rattled off designers and styles she thought would suit Rey for the event, hanging up with a clipped, “Gotta go, some asshole just closed the door in my face and I’m late. I’ll email you!”

Rey had no doubt she would. She crouched on the floor and cleaned up her fallen breakfast then finished her coffee.

“Why do you say that?” Ben said, stepping into the kitchen. His hair was styled and she breathed in the scent of his pomade mixed with the woodsy cologne he favored. He slipped his jacket on and put her mug in the dishwasher. Leaning against the counter, looking down his nose at her.

“Say what?”

“That you’re nobody.”

“Ben, I _am_ nobody.”

“Not to me,” he said, his face solemn. She looked at him for a long moment — the furrowed brow and slight frown at his full mouth. A staring contest she couldn’t win.

Rey stepped into his arms and kissed his cheek, then his lips.

“Alright then you massive softy. Time for work. I’ll see you and your parents at the Resistance later, yeah?”

“Seven on the dot. My mother hates to be late and my father hates when it gets crowded so you can guarantee they’ll be there.”

“Perfect,” she said, slipping her hand in his as they headed for the train.

Ben left her at the station, grabbing a cab uptown. It was rush hour, and the subway was crowded and hazy, humid from the body heat of all the would-be passengers sweating in their autumn jackets on the platform. The staleness wrinkled her nose as she flipped through her emails. Buried in her phone like everyone around her.

There was more from Mitaka, that corporate git. First he wanted to discuss the Resistance carrying a recognizable brand to increase traffic. _First Order has some much-loved craft beer options_ , he’d said, and Rey rolled her eyes. Over her dead body would they carry that swill. She kept reading. _If you aren’t amenable to menu changes, I would suggest increasing private corporate events. When the bar is closed for a private event, passersby become intrigued and_ — she tapped her reply, agreeing to the events but holding firm about a partnership with The First Order. _I hope this compromise suits you, Mr. Mitaka._ She wrote, then signed Maz’s name and moved on to the latest bit of drama in the group chat. Finn was currently feuding with the dance coach at a private school in the West Village who was trying to buy his troop’s spot in that weekend’s showcase at Dalton. Rose suggested infiltrating their ranks. Rey reminded them both that these were high school students and that there were other ways to ensure Finn’s team’s place.

Before her shift at the Resistance she decided to take her blissfully free couple of hours to look at dresses for the gala. Kaydel was always mentioning these boutiques in SoHo and Williamsburg and after her most recent sale, she had a bit more to spend on something nice. It seemed like this was the kind of event that required more than just nice, though. More than the vintage polyester she was used to. And it was that thought alone that brought her to the chrome storefront.

The price tags were enough to make Rey uncomfortable. Everything was cold — the glossy white floors, the concrete walls. Even the low hum of music. The shop assistants mostly left her alone as she touched the fine fabrics, looking for something that felt like her. Hemlines were short and tight or so billowing she would need to lift the skirt just to move. Eventually she gave up and walked sixteen blocks to see Val.

Twenty minutes later, she had a stunning dress that didn’t empty her coffers and enough time to stop for a box of donuts. Val recommended Rey get the dress taken in a little bit at the bust, so she left it with her for the alterations. It gave her some time to find shoes that didn’t pinch her feet.

Chewie and the boys devoured the donuts in mere minutes — Rey was lucky to snag her own cinnamon pecan cruller. There were a dozen new cases to put away; bottles of holiday-themed brews and cans of spiced cider that always sold well this time of year. It was a quiet day shift. She laughed with DJ and Snap, helped Chewie with orders, and strategized with Maz about the dearest pain in their sides, Dopheld Mitaka. By the time Paige arrived a steady stream of Thursday night customers had filtered in and out of the bar. Rey had managed to keep her shirt free of stains, eager to see Ben’s parents again and make a good second impression.

Maz had left for the night but Chewie stuck around to say hello. When Han and Leia walked into the Resistance, it was with little fanfare. The only patrons were a few 20-somethings who barely looked up from their tight knit group. Paige greeted them, starting to take their order before Han interrupted her.

“Thanks, sweetheart, but we’re here to see Rey and judge her bartending skill. You know how it is, have to make sure she’s up to our standards—“

“Ignore him,” Leia said, smiling warmly at Paige.

“How about I let Rey take care of you,” she said smoothly. “She’s still on the clock anyway.”

Rey grinned at them and started telling them about the drafts on rotation when Chewie emerged from below. He and Han clasped hands and broke into what seemed like a secret language — they spoke quickly and in disjointed sentences, peppered with grunts and huffs of laughter.

“Chewie will take care of him, don’t you worry.” Leia said, patting Rey’s hand. “I’ll have whatever you’re having, once you’re off the clock.”

Rey started to pour a taster for Leia. “I’ve been dying to try this new one — it’s brewed with grapes so it’s almost like a beer and wine hybrid—“

“Excuse me, can I get a Red Squadron?”

Ben had unbuttoned his dress shirt and rolled the sleeves. Jacket draped over his arm. He kissed his mother on the cheek and took a seat in the stool beside her.

“I didn’t raise him to interrupt,” Leia said, pursing her lips at Ben.

For the last half hour of her shift Rey floated between the Solos and new customers, helping Paige settle tabs and keep the bar clean. Once she could cross over to the other side of the bar, she found herself wedged between Ben and Chewie, the former keeping an arm slung low across her back, tapping her hip with his thumb.

It was easy to talk to Leia — she seemed to know at least a little bit about just about everything, and she was firm but kind. There was a lot to learn from a woman like that.

“I love painting you made for Ben,” she said. “It’s so evocative and—“

“Finally brought some life into his apartment,” Han said over his shoulder, clearly half listening to their conversation while reminiscing with Chewie.

Rey smiled to herself. She’d found Ben’s apartment warm and inviting before the spacescape painting hung on the walls. But now it felt more cohesive, somehow. The galaxy reached across the exposed brick, framed by his bookshelves.

“Thank you,” she said. “It’s one of my favorites, too.”

She met Ben’s eyes. Warm and inviting. He squeezed her side.

“Amilyn told me that you’re one of her most popular artists right now. I had lunch with her on Tuesday; we met at the TriBeCa gallery—“

“K2SO?”

“Yes, that’s the one. Lovely fellow running the place. Anyway, she showed me your paintings and they were all on loan from the owners or else had sold tags on them. That’s wonderful, dear. I’m so proud of you,” she said, fondness in her eyes not unlike her son’s.

“I have one for you, actually,” Rey said. Ben’s lips quirked with amusement. “It’s upstairs.”

They talk and enjoyed each other’s company for over an hour. Han and Leia had a dinner reservation uptown and Ben had an early meeting, as much as Rey longed for the evening to stretch a little further. To stay in the warmth of Leia’s gaze and Han’s good humor.

“We’ll see you next month for our holiday party at the cabin,” Leia said, hugging her tightly.

“Yes, we’ll make sure that guest room is ready for you,” Han added with a cheeky wink.

Ben held the door for his parents, lingering to wait for Rey while she said goodbye to Paige. The way the streetlight brushed a golden glow over Ben’s face kept her feet rooted to the pavement.

“What?” He lifted an eyebrow at her and she beamed.

“Nothing,” she said, taking one last look before reaching for his hand. They were a few paces behind his parents. Their driver idled at the corner, and Rey noticed a photographer snapping a few pictures of the older couple as they approached the black town car.

Han opened the door for his wife, who clutched her painting in both hands, and subtly waved goodbye behind the cover of the door. Ben merely nodded, though Rey waved cheerfully back. One last snap from the photographer as Han ducked his head into the vehicle. She could have sworn she heard him grumble something about how he was still standing.

As they drove away Ben’s mouth was set in a thin line.

“What?” She echoed his earlier question.

“I’ve maintained a low profile since college,” he said. “I haven’t had to deal with the paparazzi in a while. Sometimes I forget that it’s still part of their lives. You’d think a couple in their 60s would be boring by now.”

“Well, I’m sure there’s been renewed…interest since your dad’s accident. Maybe now that they’ve had their picture taken it will calm down a bit?”

Ben sighed, clearing the cobwebs in his head with a brief shake. “You’re probably right. And I don’t think we were close enough to the shot for anyone to make the connection. I’m just protective of them.”

Rey squeezed his hand. “I get that.”

“And of you,” he said, leaving a kiss on her temple.

“Local street rat painter seen with son of Hollywood royalty!” She announced to no one.

Ben laughed, pulling her along beside him. “Come on, street rat, let’s make sure you get something to eat before you terrorize the patrons of the M train.”

The autumn weeks blended together in a whirl of leaves and sunset colors — a low-key 26th birthday with Ben at his apartment and Thanksgiving with the Ticos in Westchester passed into the early winter chill of December quicker than Rey was prepared for. The cold wind bit at her heels as she went about her days.

At dawn Ben had left for Chicago with a small suitcase and a promise to try to bring back a deep dish pizza for her, if TSA would allow it. He gave her a key to the apartment, in case she wanted to stay there. But Rey had made plans with Rose and she intended to keep them. Though she did take one of his t-shirts to sleep in. And helped herself to the rest of his granola bars. And took a bottle of wine before she left. After all, he told her to help herself to anything she wanted.

Rose rented the latest Jane Austen adaptation and popped an enormous bowl of popcorn using the air popper her parents gave Rey for her birthday. An unhealthy amount of melted butter and salt to season it. Rey poured large glasses of wine and prepared their traditional sweet snack plate with macarons from the French place on 7th and salted chocolate chip cookies from the hipster place around the corner. They shoveled fistfuls of popcorn into their mouths while swooning over stronger accents than Rey’s and elegant gowns and sweeping musical scores.

“I think Armitage would look dashing in a cravat,” Rose said, spilling a little wine down her chin with a giggle.

“He certainly has the rigid posture required for it,” Rey snorted. They’d devoured the snacks and opened a second bottle of wine. Cheaper than the one she’d stolen from Ben’s place but after one bottle it didn’t matter the vintage. Drunk was drunk.

“I wish he and Ben had more of a chance to talk last month,” Rose said. “Poe and Finn hogged him the whole night.”

“Hmm I do believe you dragged him into a corner for at least twenty minutes—“

“Well that’s different. That’s best friend privileges.”

“Once your lawyer’s schedule is less demanding and Ben’s back from this trip we can force them to interact more. It’s probably necessary that they do.”

“Oh really?” Rose smirked, nudging Rey with her foot. “And why’s that?”

Rey sighed. Maybe it was the romantic movie they’d been watching or maybe it was the wine. “Because I think I might…like him. More than a little.”

“He does have that mysterious suitor vibe.”

“Pffft, he’s not mysterious he’s an old man trapped in a fit early thirties body. He owns one of those boards for folding your t-shirts like a shop does. And just the other day he asked me if Harry Styles was a new player for the Knicks.”

“I _mean_ he’s still a mystery to me. Don’t get me wrong I really like him and I can tell he makes you happier than I think I’ve ever seen you outside of a large cheese plate—“

“I do love a cheese plate.”

“Rey. Focus. I’m trying to have a heart to heart here.”

“Right. Sorry. Heart to heart me, Rose. But first pass the bottle, you’re _hogging_ it.”

Rose rolled her eyes and shoved the wine into Rey’s hands. She refilled her glass and leaned against the arm of the couch.

“If I have to share him with you I want to get to know him.”

“Rosie, I’m already sharing _you_ with Hux. At least five nights a week for the last few months.”

“Exactly! So now we just have to make sure that they get along at least half as well as we do.”

“You sound like a scheming socialite in a BBC drama. Next you’re going to ask me for his address so you can send him an invitation to tea and an interrogation.”

“Promise we’ll set something up next week when Benjamin is back.”

Rey smiled. “It’s just Ben. See? Now you know something else about him. Not so mysterious anymore, is he?”

Rose whacked Rey with a throw pillow and groaned. “He did tell me one thing when we were talking.” She smiled with mischief at the corners of her lips. When she didn’t elaborate Rey threw the pillow back at her.

“Don’t do that,” Rey said, sloshing her wine a bit. “Don’t leave me with a drift banger — a…a cliff hanger!”

The snort that came out of Rose was as inelegant as anything Rey had heard from her friend. They both began to cackle, and Rey pulled her into a hug.

“Rosie,” she said, suddenly serious, “you know that you’re my best friend—“

“Of course I do.”

“And you know that I think no one deserves to be loved by you.”

Rose pulled back. “Rey, if this is your way of telling me Armie isn’t—“

“No, no not that. The opposite of that.” She paused and gathered herself, taking another sip of wine that had long lost its flavor. “I like Armitage. Not because I find his company particularly enjoyable—“

“Rey.”

“—But because I think he loves you in the way you’ve always wanted to be loved.”

Rey looked at Rose, with her big brown eyes wide and sparkling. She opened her mouth to say something and thought better of it, then nodded and pulled Rey back into a hug. They clung to each other as the television played, skirts spinning and aristocrats bowing to each other at the end of the dance.

In the back of Rey’s mind was a wooden box that felt like something she’d only ever longed for. The way that she had always wanted to be loved. It felt like home — beckoning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finn's dance competition takes place The Dalton School. This is a real school in the Upper East Side of Manhattan -- you might recognize the name from Gossip Girl, as it was a rival school for the main characters. I don’t know why I’m telling you this and exposing myself as someone who not only watched Gossip Girl but absorbed information from it. But anyway.
> 
> This is a bit of a transition chapter. The next chapter has it all: a gala at a fancy hotel, [redacted], and [redacted]! Stay tuned 😇


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey attends the prestigious Serreno Gala, where she is introduced to her most prominent buyer.

Finn wanted to meet as soon as Rey finished painting. It was her day off from the Resistance, and she’d been at the studio for nearly eight hours. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t take a break until the colors were on the canvas, blended and swirled and speckled. It was her most ambitious piece yet — she’d been working on it whenever she had a few hours to spare for the last week. With Ben away, she had more free time than she had grown used to in the last few weeks.

So when Finn asked if she wanted to have dinner that night, she said yes. It had been ages since they’d spent time together outside of the group. She could always count on Finn to help ground her and make her laugh.

They met at an old favorite — a dumpling house that was maddeningly cheap and only a few blocks from the dorm they’d lived in for two years in Chinatown. It was almost always crowded with a mix of university students and other walk-ins. Rey arrived first and waited patiently for a table and Finn. The red trim and dark furniture was comfortable and familiar. The staff friendly and busy. She’d been staring at the television, playing a drama on mute, when Finn opened the door with the biggest grin she’d seen on him in months.

“There she is!” He scooped her into a crushing hug and spun her once before setting her back down on the linoleum tile.

“Hello to you too,” she said with a laugh, conscious of the small space they were occupying.

A man lead them to a table and before he could offer menus they ordered and slipped into the kind of small talk you could only have with an old friend. Disjointed and endless.

After they’d eaten their fill — and then some — of dumplings Finn cleared his throat.

“So there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” he said, taking a quick sip of water. A few beads of sweat had formed at his brow. “I wanted it to just be us.”

“Okay this whole serious tone has come out of nowhere should I be concerned?”

“No, no! It’s actually…it’s really good.”

When he didn’t continue Rey quirked an eyebrow. “Finn, if you don’t bloody tell me what’s going on I swear—“

“Poe asked me to marry him. We’re — we’re getting married.”

Finn’s massive smile returned, though he ducked his head a little bit, as if the attention was too much, even from his best friend.

“That’s fantastic news! Congratulations!” Rey reached across the table and squeezed his hand tightly. “So, summer wedding? How much time do I have left before I’m forced to surrender you to Dameron completely?”

“At this point we’ve been together for so long it seems a little ridiculous to have a long engagement. We’re thinking early in the new year, something small.” He paused and let out a laugh. “Something not during wedding season so that it doesn’t cost a fortune.”

“That’s brilliant. I’m so happy for you.” She squeezed his hand one more time, taking in the open joy on his face and the softness in his eyes.

“I guess it was time for me to be the first in our little trio for something,” he said, showing Rey the tasteful, industrial band that sat on the third finger of his left hand. It was a dark metal with sleek engravings.

“I think our little Rosie will follow you if things keep going the way they have been. I hardly see her anymore. At this point I’m just waiting for a formal email from Hux asking for her ring size and precious metal preference.”

“I’m sure it won’t just be Rose,” Finn said, settling a look on her face. She just scoffed and pulled out a few bills, tossing them to the middle of the table.

They parted ways at the subway, Finn heading far uptown and Rey across the bridge to Brooklyn. Within the next hour the news was all over Finn and Poe’s social media accounts.

In the days that followed she drifted from shifts at the Resistance to the studio, painting and pouring beers and texting with Ben as she fell asleep. After four days apart she realized she missed him.

It turned out that the Serreno Gala was, in fact, a big deal. Rey had finally bothered to do a little research a few days before the event. It was typically attended by film stars, models, influencers, and other red carpet-walkers. Rey would be one of the little people, ushered in through a side door so that she didn’t step on whatever It-Girl’s hem. But Kaydel assured her it would be fun, and at the very least, it was catered by a Michelin-star chef.

The night before the gala she had a long video chat with Ben. He showed her the view from his hotel in Chicago and bored her with talk of business meetings while she gave him updates on everything at home in New York.

“I figure I’ll paint something for the engagement party next month and pick up something nice from their registry for the wedding gift,” she said. His warm chuckle heated her cheeks.

“Just promise me it won’t be a portrait of Dameron. He’d never shut up about it.”

They talked until Rey could barely keep her eyes open, her yawns stretching widely.

Before they hung up he told her he missed her. And she whispered, “Me too.”

“I’ll see you when I get home,” he said, and she tucked it away.

Rey was glad she took Val’s advice and had the dress altered. It was midnight black, with thin gold straps leading from the almost sporty tank neckline to a bare back, draping down to frame her pert little ass, as Val had so eloquently exclaimed when she’d first tried it on.

The smooth silk cascaded down her figure, swishing slightly as she walked. Rose helped her smooth her hair into a trio of buns to better show off the low back of the dress. A few tendrils of hair framed her face, painted with the kind of natural glow makeup that fooled people into thinking it only took minutes instead of a focused hour in front of her mirror.

She was an artist and though she didn’t do it often, she knew how best to highlight her features. A light touch with the foundation so that her freckles still shown through. Tawny blush on her cheekbones, like she was more tan than her English skin allowed. A thin flick of eyeliner to frame her hazel eyes beneath layers of mascara. In art school they learned that the large eyes of animation were useful for showing more emotion — people were drawn to them. She brushed and tinted her brows to frame her face. A soft stain of rose pink for her lips, like she’d just been kissed even though it had been nearly a week.

Rey felt more beautiful when she thought about the things Ben whispered to her in the dark. The way his hands held her close until morning. Only a few more days until he came home. To her.

“You’re going to have to include a warning label when we send a picture to Ben,” Rose said, sliding a few decorative pins into Rey’s hair. They were little gold starbursts and comets — Kaydel had sent them to her with a note that said they were to remind people of her art, and how she would light up the room like the stars she painted.

“I’m going to wait until I’m at the hotel before I do that,” Rey said, trying to stay still while Rose arranged the hairpins.

“But I won’t to see his reaction in real time!”

“Rose, I think the effect won’t be as full with my secondhand furniture and dusty bookshelf in the background. They probably have some grand staircase I can pose on there like I’m Cinderella. And I promise to send to you first, so that you can filter and have final approval.”

Rose pursed her lips and contemplated for a moment before nodding in agreement. “You’re right. And the hotel lighting will be much nicer, too. I’ll have to do less editing.”

“I haven’t told him about it,” Rey said. She put on a simple pair of gold earrings, shaped like teardrops.

“You haven’t told him you’re going to an exclusive event? Where you’ll probably end up in the background of some actress’ paparazzi shot? Are you serious?”

Rey shrugged. “I thought it might be fun to just send him a photo. Like ‘Hey! I put on a nice dress!’ But really, I’ll probably feel awkward for an hour and steal a bottle and come home and eat the rest of the pizza in the fridge.”

Rose flitted about the room, gathering Rey’s heels and the gold clutch she was lending her.

“You’re going to cause the poor man to have a heart attack and then he’ll be stuck in Chicago even longer, you know.”

“I don’t know if you remember this but he’s in fantastic shape, he’ll be just fine.”

Rey dabbed a little perfume behind her ears and on her wrists. A clean scent, a little bit woodsy. She wore it maybe twice a year at best, but tonight felt like an occasion for it. Rose stood in the doorway, watching her fumble with the straps on her heels.

When she stood and smoothed the fabric of her dress, Rose let out a low whistle.

“You’re going to leave this thing with a list of commissions and at least three marriage proposals.”

Rey snorted. “Well here’s hoping for the former, at least.” She checked her phone. Kaydel had arranged for a car to pick her up at seven. There was enough time to shake some food into BB8’s fishbowl, put her lipstick in her handbag, and get her coat on. When she went to pick up the dress from Val she realized she didn’t have anything nice to wear over it, and it was a bitter cold mid-December. They’d settled on a black wool cloak with a purple silk liner — the clasp was a simple black knot.

“Darling, it’ll be dramatic when you take it off and reveal yourself,” Val had said.

And she was right, as she usually was with all things sartorial. When Rey climbed the steps of the Grand Coruscant Hotel, careful to hold her dress above her heels, she was very aware of the photographers lining the entry hall. They called out to people whose names Rey didn’t know. Bulbs flashing and making her see spots. Reporters and publicists leading clients through the chaos. Kaydel had met her on the sidewalk and escorted her inside, swiftly steering her away from the photographers. She deposited Rey in a line for the coatroom, then leaned against the opposite wall and typed on her phone while she waited.

When Kaydel finally looked up at her once Rey rejoined her, she was unusually quiet, eyes assessing.

“What is it? Did I smudge something when I took my cloak off? Is my hair okay?” Rey ran a nervous hand over the top of her head.

“Fuck’s sake, Johnson, where have you been hiding all this time?” She said, dragging her eyes from Rey’s hair down to her heels and back. “I’m going to have to fend off at least a half dozen people from offering marriage—“

“That’s what my roommate said,” Rey chuckled.

“Rose, right? Gorgeous little thing. I thought she might be here as your date.”

“It’s her boyfriend’s law firm’s holiday party tonight,” Rey said, ticking each word off with a tilt of her head. She tried to picture Hux in a holiday sweater and huffed out a laugh.

“Bummer, I would have loved to have the two of you on my arms all night.”

They stood with dozens of others outside the ballroom. The Grand Coruscant was one of the oldest and most beautiful buildings in the city. It was pre-war, and moneyed enough that renovations and upkeep was standard. A large, round stained glass facade took up the majority of the street-facing wall. Rey imagined that in daylight it scattered a rainbow across the white marble floors. The ballroom itself was huge, with vaulted ceilings and a second floor balcony circling it.

She tapped her arm with one finger, trying to shake the nervous energy before she was paraded around to various gallery owners and patrons.

“Stop fidgeting,” Kaydel said, tapping away on her phone.

“Sorry,” Rey said. The gowns and tuxes surrounding them were like nothing she had seen in real life. It was as if she had stumbled onto the red carpet for an awards show. “Just a bit nervous. I’m still finding my place in all of this.”

Rey had pictured something less polished and prim, something more like the casual art shows she’d attended recently. Just with fancier clothes.

“Well you look incredible and all you have to do is smile and let me sell your story to the wealthiest of guests so that they flood the gallery with sales.” Kaydel might as well have been Rey’s commander for the evening, with her olive green tuxedo. It was impeccably tailored to her slight frame, and towering gold platform heels straight off the runway made her half a foot taller. There was an edge to her makeup and the intricate braid woven around her head like a crown. If anyone could convince the wealthy elite to buy art, it was Kaydel. She’d sold enough of Rey’s paintings to prove it. And even though she was her agent first, Rey had come to view her as a friend after these last couple months.

“Do you have a date tonight?” Rey asked.

“Babe, you’re the only date I need. My girlfriend’s gallery is having its own event tonight and that’s for the best — we would take all the attention.” She winked and steered Rey towards one of the bars. “Champagne or something stronger?”

“I think if I drink anything I won’t be able to keep it down, to be honest.”

“Champagne then. Bubbles to calm the nerves and it gives you something to hold and focus on until the food arrives.” Kaydel knew her well.

As she held the delicate glass and sipped at the clearly expensive vintage, Rey took in the space. Chandeliers nearly the size of the M11 bus. Crisp, white linens over every little table. Silk bows on the chairs. A few photographers snapping photos of people who must have been famous. Her gaze snagged on an older couple, one bald and wearing a gold brocade suit with a silk scarf instead of a tie. The other in a long topcoat made of deep purple velvet so dark it was nearly black, traced with embroidery that looked like fragments of lightning.

“Edmund Snoke and Sheev Palpatine,” Kaydel whispered, nodding her head towards them. “Rich as sin.”

“And just as evil,” Rey replied, thinking of Maz and how they would continue to fight to keep the bar open and even that might not be enough once ownership officially transferred to their protege in less than two weeks. Kaydel smiled and nodded. The two men laughed and drank, holding court over a small group. No one stood very close, as if just being near them was enough. Being close to power but knowing you couldn’t take it.

“They’ll stay until the dinner but won’t participate in any deals. Snoke likes to do his biddings behind the scenes but he’ll get what he wants in the end. Always does.”

“And the other one?”

“Dramatic old queen if you ask me.” Kaydel drained her glass. “To the untrained eye Ted is the leader but Sheev holds the strings. He owns half of the city in one way or another. Everyone’s favorite billionaire power couple, ready to take on the world.”

Seeing them in the flesh was unsettling, and Rey had to tug her eyes away from the cackling laughter, the near groveling revelers surrounding them. Until tonight they’d been abstract and now that they’d been made flesh she was even more certain she should stay away.

Kaydel educated Rey on the various important people in the room, pointing out new names and faces and old ones, too. Amilyn Holdo had vibrant hair the color of spring lilacs. A column of a charcoal gown covered her from neck to the floor. She was radiant, and Rey longed to meet her. Asohka Tano was orbited by a small entourage. An eager young woman held a recorder beneath her angular jaw while a photographer snapped a few photos. To be in the same room as such a legend made Rey’s heart flip.

She was shorter than Rey expected, with lines of age on her brown skin. Her dark hair was streaked with grey, the long dreads separated into two sections. Stacks of bracelets on her arms. There was a severity to her, but warmth, too.

“Kaydel?”

“Hmm?” She looked up from her phone.

“When will we talk with Asohka Tano? I want to make sure I don’t faint.”

“Rey, she’s going to love you. Once all the reporters leave and the event really starts I’ll make the introduction. She doesn’t normally give interviews but her agent told me she agreed on a few while she’s here, since she designed the installation. It gives her a chance to talk about her philanthropic work, too.”

The art installation was behind a curtain and Rey was eager to see it. A new mixed media piece, not yet seen by anyone. From her favorite artist. Who she was going to meet, personally, very soon. She sipped at her champagne, switching the glass to her other hand so that she could press her cold fingers to her neck. It was then that she noticed most people held the glass daintily by the stem. She had been cradling the cup in her hand. The secret language of the privileged.

There were small groups of people chatting and laughing under the soft lights from the chandeliers. Gowns of every color, sequined and beaded, with trains and diamonds on wrists and fingers. Crisp tuxedos and gelled hair. Lush floral arrangements on every table. She could smell the gardenias and roses and what must have been lilies — her stomach was in knots like it always was when she smelled anything heavily floral. Or maybe it was her nerves. 

“Will you be alright without me for a moment? I have to find Bodhi to confirm a few things.” Kaydel lightly touched her elbow to get her attention.

The thought of standing alone sent a new wave of nausea but she forced it down. “Of course, yes.”

For a few minutes she stood at the edge of the room, continuing to observe the guests. Balancing on her heels, trying not to look as out of place as she felt. She thought about how Rose would handle something like this. With her shoulders back and head held high, daring anyone to tell her she didn’t belong. Rey tried to channel her, though she still clenched her jaw. A man in his forties stopped to talk to her, but when he learned she wasn’t the lead on the fantasy drama he thought she was, he moved on. She felt as though her obscurity worked in her favor. The air in the ballroom was cool, probably to accommodate the amount of bodies in the space radiating heat. She was glad for the climate control, even in a silk dress that left much of her back exposed.

Rey wandered about the room, drinking her champagne and feeling only slightly less out of place now that she’d finished a glass of the most expensive thing she’d ever had. It almost convinced her she was seeing things when, just a few feet in front of her, she saw Ben nodding and smiling along in conversation. He wasn’t supposed to be back until Monday. Had told her as much when they spoke the night before.

But she knew the line of his shoulders and the tiny bit of ear that slipped through the dark waves of his hair when he ran a hand through it, which he did often. That was him, in a black tuxedo with a black shirt and black tie. The skin beneath his eyes was tired but he smiled genuinely with his companions. One was a rather stern looking woman and the other was a young man who looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him. She must have been blatantly staring because Ben noticed her then. His eyes widened, and the hand on his glass of scotch tightened as she approached.

“Ben?” She said, smiling at him. “What are you doing here? Did you talk to Kaydel?”

He excused himself from whoever he was speaking with. The initial alarm on his face softened to a smile, and his dark eyes swallowed her whole as he raked his eyes over her body. It was enough to make her blush until his brow creased and he stumbled over his words.

“I had to come back early — my boss—I didn’t realize you’d be here…” He cleared his throat. “Rey, I need to talk to you, can we step outside for just—”

Ben’s smile had faltered mid sentence, and before he could finish speaking, Kaydel placed a hand on both of their elbows, turning them towards her.

“Mr. Ren, I didn’t expect to see you here tonight! Rey, I see you’ve met one of your most enthusiastic buyers,” she said. Rey scrunched her brows together. She couldn’t have heard right.

“My what?”

“Mr. Ren has purchased, what is it now? At least five of your paintings. I expect he will lead the auction for…”

The sounds of the room shank away, as if in a vacuum. She couldn’t hear Kaydel. Couldn’t hear anything beyond the pounding between her ears and in her chest. The buzzing in her very skin. Her paintings? Rey looked at Ben’s pale face and his jaw worried beneath her gaze. She couldn’t have heard right.

“Mr. _Ren_?” She whispered, sure that Kaydel was mistaken. She’d correct herself.

“Oh gosh, of course you wouldn’t know him that’s my job. Rey Johnson, this is Kylo Ren. He works for Snalps Ventures. Look at you, Mr. Ren! Starstruck meeting your favorite artist. I’m sorry I know you wanted to be anonymous but Rey’s wonderful.” Kaydel laughed warmly and squeezed his arm, bringing him out of his daze. “I had to make the introduction when I saw you together. You could almost be a couple!” His lips quirked in a polite smile but before he could say anything Rey excused herself and made a determined path towards the edge of the room.

 _Where the fuck is the bathroom where is the exit_ her thoughts were jumbled. She couldn’t remember where the main doors were. There were so many people. She’d wandered so deeply into the ballroom. Tables and flowers and services with trays of champagne. _Which paintings how could he lie where is the exit._ Small groups of leering, sequined people blocked her way, their jewels jangling as they downed champagne and looked through her. She was no one to them and they didn’t mean a damn to her either. Her shoulder knocked into someone. _My paintings. How many?_ She counted them in her head. All of the sales since September, since the masquerade showcase. There had been twenty. And five of them were him. His apartment only had the one that she gave him, the one that she’d painted for him and him alone. Her lungs fought for air. Where was he hiding the rest? In his office, overlooking Manhattan. Some second apartment or a fucking yacht or a house in the Hamptons. Maybe an apartment in Paris, right on the fucking Seine. _Oh I’m a just a boring consultant like fuck you are._ She pushed her way around the guests and industry elites as best as she could, pulling her skirt up with one hand to walk faster in her heels. Tripping a little on the carpet. _Liar how could he — get me out of this place._ The air was thick but she suddenly felt cold. She stopped near the wall and took a breath. _Where is the exit liar liar liar—_

A warm hand skimmed her bare lower back as a rough, low voice said her name.

“Do not touch me,” she whispered as she spun on her heel to face him. Chin pointed and breath heavy as she glared up at him. His throat bobbed and he snatched his hand back quick as a viper.

“I can explain just not here,” he said, his voice shaking. Ben followed her a few more paces, glancing over his shoulder.

“Liar.” It was soft, pushed through her quivering lip. Eyes blazing as they took in his corporate mask slipping. Everything about him was a lie. Fabricated just so that she would open up. How was it fair for him to know her, when everything — _everything_ was a lie?

“So what is it then? Rich playboy started out with mummy and daddy’s money investing with your overlords to make more. Working for those people—”

“It’s more complicated than that, Rey.”

“More complicated! What’s complicated about it? You work for people who actively destroy things all so you can get rich like them and hurt people—“

“That’s not what—“

She didn’t let him force his lies on her. “And then what? You have all this money but it bores you. How do you get off after that? Cast me as your charity case, buying my art while feeding me some bullshit story about how you’re just as alone as I am.” Her voice cracked, and she hated the feeling of hot tears at the corner of her eyes. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of brushing them away.

“No, that’s not—You’re not a charity case. It’s not—” He was flustered, struggling to come up with an excuse. Running a hand through his hair. The leather band of his grandfather’s watch just visible at his sleeve. He only wore it when he needed the comfort. But now she wondered just what it was really worth.

While she was eating Rose’s leftovers and running all over Manhattan just to earn an extra twenty bucks he was lounging in a private apartment, feet up on a couch that probably cost more than her rent. A lifetime without worries, without the fear of being at someone else’s mercy. Playing a game. With her. And she never learned the rules.

“Who was it six month ago? A subway cello player hoping to play at the Met? No one with fame or a fucking shred of self esteem. No it has to be someone lost and naive and absolutely stupid to believe you. Someone like me.”

“Rey, you’re none of those things please—” Liar. She cut him off.

“You lied to me when we first met and told me that I could trust you. I should have ignored the voice in my head that said I could. You lied about so many little things that I just dismissed. And that was all utter bullshit compared to this. How can you work for the people who are trying to crush the Resistance? Everything they’ve built? It’s not just me who suffers for it, it’s Chewie, it’s Maz. How can you call them your family when you’re ruining their lives? _Kylo Ren_ asking Maz about her finances before you sell the place out from under her.”

“I’m trying to help—just let me explain.” He was talking quickly, trying to get as many words out as he could, the building blocks of lies creating a wall around her. Suffocating her. “You said we could talk about things. You wanted to talk and I promise I’ll tell you everything but I can’t talk about it here. I can’t talk about it with him here.” He glanced over his shoulder, to where his bosses jeered, leaving half-drunk glasses of champagne on tables as carelessly as if it was water before snatching a fresh glass.

“You’re a completely different person! I don’t know you at all. What can you possibly explain? I can’t believe I was so stupid to think you were like me. You’re not. You’re a liar.”

The older man in the gold brocade suit called out to Kylo Ren but he didn’t turn around.

“Rey. Come with me. Please.” His hand shook as he held it out to her. The color seeped from his face. The pale skin beneath his eye quivered. He looked like he would be sick. _Good_ , she thought. _Good._

“Your overlord is calling — better answer him,” she sneered. “I never want to see you again, Mr. Ren.” She spat the last words, then grabbed a bottle of champagne from the nearest confused server and left the ballroom. Had she turned around, she would have seen his hand was still waiting for her to take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this chapter were written from the very beginning, and I've been waiting to get to this point in the story since the first chapter, when a mysterious stranger took one of Rey's business cards. Thank you for reading. I'd love to know what you think!
> 
> It's been a while since we had a canon note or fashion note...
> 
> The Grand Coruscant Hotel doesn’t actually exist, obviously, but it’s named for the planet [Coruscant](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Coruscant), a massive city (Galactic City) covers the entire planet. It was home to a Jedi temple (where Anakin killed the younglings. Tough look for my guy) and the Galactic Senate (Senator Binx. Great look for my guy). 
> 
> Rey's dress is like if [this one](https://i.pinimg.com/474x/3a/b7/c7/3ab7c76fb3df195b2d020f6d450d347c.jpg) didn't have all the gold chains, just the chains as straps. [This](https://i.pinimg.com/474x/c2/92/bc/c292bc9fe956707a928f69c98ff5029a.jpg) with gold straps. And the front is more athletic, like [this](https://i.pinimg.com/474x/6b/7e/f2/6b7ef29430e850b619805c4f8b1d3f41.jpg).


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _That pain ran deep. She’d thought she’d repaired it, slowly. Scavenging the pieces to put herself back together. But as sturdy as she thought she was, all it took was one hit to shatter the careful construction._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild content warning, please see end notes.

Rey painted furiously for three days. Paige covered for her at the bar.

Her brush strokes were erratic. The painting corrosive. Hands reaching out to touch against the scattered pieces of a spaceship, dust and explosions caressing the edges of the canvas. Sharp pieces of debris and bright bursts of flame. Crystalline webs laced with crackles of lightning.

When she was finished, she emailed a photo to Kaydel with a note that she would no longer sell to anonymous buyers and that Kylo Ren was no longer allowed to purchase her work, regardless of how much he offered. She wanted him nowhere near her art. Kaydel didn’t ask questions, and for that Rey was grateful.

He’d called her and sent messages as soon as she left the gala. It was easy to block his number. To delete the voicemails and text chain without reading it. To filter her inbox to delete any messages from him. When an email from Dopheld Mitaka to Maz asked to be put in touch with Rey Johnson, she told the assistant where he could shove it. He was at the gala, talking to Ben. It wasn’t until she got home that she remembered what he looked like and made the connection. They had been smiling together. Probably talking about how much money they would make selling the Resistance and turning the building into luxury condominiums.

Three days later Leia left a message but she couldn’t listen to it past, “Hi, Rey, it’s Leia. I know my son—“

She didn’t delete that one.

A week after the Gala a letter showed up at the apartment. There was no return address but she knew from the fine dove grey paper of the envelope and the clear, precise script that wrote out her address that it was from him. She held it over the trash in the kitchen. Then she took it into her room and pulled out a lighter, thinking she would burn it. Poetic, somehow. She charred a corner before blowing it out and finally shoving it behind her bed with the painting she couldn’t bring herself to paint over or sell. The very first one she did of him, all those months ago. The galaxy she’d seen in the warmth of his eyes.

She hadn’t cried except for the few angry tears that escaped as she left the Grand Coruscant Hotel as quickly as she could, hailing a yellow cab a block away. Leaving her cloak behind. She’d had to message Kaydel, tell her she was ill. Could she grab her coat for her. Could she tell Asohka Tano she was sorry. Could she tell everyone she was sorry.

She spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with the Tico family, going through the motions and smiling when she was expected to. She helped Rose make her famous chocolate cherry cookies and drank spiked egg nog and sang carols off-key. She opened gifts — a set of brushes, engraved with her name from Rose, a gift certificate for the art supply store from Mr. and Mrs. Tico. A book about Asokha Tano’s set designs from Paige. She left early on Boxing Day to get back to the city for a shift at the Resistance. She was fine.

It was quiet, just her and Snap. The city seemed empty. They played cards and drank a case of coffee stout from a new vendor Chewie was considering. She didn’t care for stouts normally, they were too filling and she preferred to fill up on food before letting a beer take over. But she drank it anyway and was grateful for a night of drunken small talk with Snap. It was always low stakes with him. They didn’t have much in common outside of the bar and they weren’t friends so much as colleagues. She needed that kind of quiet. The benign chatter that none of her friends could keep up for long before turning the conversation to how she was _feeling_ and if she’d talked to _him_ and if she wanted to talk about it _more_ and she absolutely, positively did _not_. Texts went unanswered. Calls were dodged. She was fine.

She chased the feeling of anger and disappointment when she painted, each one darker than the last. Somehow violent in her brushwork and the clashes of colors. Bodhi had called her most recent works chaotic and unsettling, but he acquired them for the gallery anyway. Kaydel assured her that recent buyers weren’t associated with _him_.

It was two days before New Years Eve and the Resistance was preparing for a private party that evening. A small tech company on the next block rented the space for their annual seasonal gathering, and there was an hour left before they would start to arrive. Caterers would drop off cases of champagne and glasses and set up an ornate cheese and charcuterie board at the far end of the bar. After the first round of champagne would be some speeches and then dessert. They’d had to dress in what Mitaka described as “Professional” attire. The stains on her jeans screamed it. The missing button on her white blouse fit the bill. She was fine.

The bottles fridge was sparkling clean and so were the taps. The extra dishcloths were folded neatly in their bin and the chalkboard was as festive as Rey could muster up the creativity for. Pine trees and twinkling lights to frame it. She had just finished realigning the glassware when she heard someone sit at the bar, the stool dragging on the tile, a body settling on the wooden seat.

“Can I get a Red Squadron?”

A voice she’d heard in her mind constantly for two weeks. _Come with me. Please._

The beat of her heart tripled and her breath caught.

With her back to him she poured it and slid it across the bar to him without looking up. She stepped away, not glancing back as she wrenched open the trapdoor.

“Chewie!” She called, her jaw tight. The barstool scraped across the tile as he stood.

“Rey, just give me five minutes—“

“Chewie, I’m taking my break now,” she yelled, then took the stairs two at a time to Maz’s office and slammed the door. With her back against it she breathed for a moment, face heated and her heartbeat stuttering. _How fucking dare you_ , she thought, squeezing her eyes shut. She’d only caught a glimpse of his hands on the dark wood of the bar. Reaching for the glass with a slight tremor. If she’d looked up at his face…Well, she didn’t want to think about it too much. It was already all she saw in her mind. The fractured way his eyes shook when he begged her to go with him. She pushed him back into his box.

After five minutes or fifteen or an hour, Chewie knocked on the door.

“Hey, kid—“

“I’m _fine_ , I just need a minute,” she said, leaning her full weight against the door. She picked at the small hole in her knee, fraying the denim and watching it get bigger.

“Just wanted to let you know…he’s gone. He left.”

She stayed on the floor until she could stand without her legs shaking.

* * *

January passed like a winter storm — cold and grey and isolated. Rey painted. She went to work. She quit Takodana Botanicals. She avoided her friends’ concerned messages and instead tried to act as if the last few months hadn’t happened. As if she’d never met a man who walked the streets of New York with her until dawn, imprinting himself on her as their feet chased the pavement. As if every time she closed her eyes she didn’t see his face or hear his voice or feel his breath in her ear. She kept putting him back in the box, adding locks and chains to keep it together.

Rose must have asked Paige for Rey’s schedule because every night she wasn’t at the Resistance, Rose was home. Offering to watch a period film with a bottle of wine. Asking if she wanted to go try the new Vietnamese place or the new donut shop or to see a movie or try for same-day tickets to a show. On weekends if she wasn’t painting there was always something that Finn and Rose wanted to do together. A free performance at a comedy club. A new exhibit at the MoMa. A book signing at the Strand. The Troopers were learning a new routine, she should come watch. Most of the time she went along with it, hoping they would stop coddling her. She was fine.

It was the end of the month when Rose pulled another tray of baked goods from the oven — this time crusts for mini banofee pies, which she knew was the one thing Rey missed from her childhood in London.

There were mixing bowls all over the kitchen with toffee sauce and whipped cream. A ripe bunch of bananas waiting to be sliced. Chocolate bars — the good kind — that she would shave over the top once the little tarts were assembled.

“Rosie, you have to cool it with the sweets,” Rey said, grabbing a clean glass from the drying rack and filling it with tap water. She gulped down half of it and refilled it. “Everyone at the Resistance is on this New Year, New Me bullshit and I can’t keep foisting your stress baking on them.”

“It’s not stress baking, I enjoy it and Armie always brings some to the office with him,” she said, setting the tray on a wire rack to cool.

“If it’s not stress baking then why have you only made things that I like when I know perfectly well that your chocolate chip cookies are Hux’s favorites? Does he even like bananas?”

Rose peeled two and started slicing them, each one the same thickness. Perfect coins for her pies.

“Rey, I’m just trying to be here for you in whatever way you’ll let me.”

“I’ve told you and Finn a hundred times, I’m _fine_.”

Rey rummaged through the fridge so that she didn’t have to look at Rose while she lied. Pulling old hot sauces to the front, rotating them and putting them back. She wasn’t hungry and there wasn’t much in there to begin with.

Rose took a measured breath. “You keep saying that but we know you better. You’re just going through the motions—“

“What would you rather I do? Go through the motions and hope that I actually do get back to whatever normal is supposed to be? Or should I just be openly angry and cursing his name?” Rey was calm when she spoke but beneath the skin she boiled. “Should I be talking about how the one person I thought understood me was a fraud? How he manipulated me at every turn?”

“Rey, I think he did care about you but there’s something missing—“

“Don’t. Just don’t.”

“It’s been a month. I know you’re angry but maybe you should talk to him and get the whole story—“

Rey let out a noise that was somewhere between a growl and a scream. “Stop! You don’t know what’s best for me, Rose, you don’t have any idea. I’m so sick of you thinking you know better. You don’t. How many times have I had to take care of you when some asshole breaks your heart? I never tried to push you or question you I was just there for you—“

“That’s what I am trying to do, you’re just not letting me—“

“I don’t want anything else from you! The days you aren’t here are fucking blissful because it’s finally quiet and I don’t have to listen to your endless chatter or pretend to want one of your brownies. Or listen to you whispering to Finn or Hux or whoever it is that you’re worried about me. I don’t need your sympathy. I’m sick of it — I’m sick of you. I wish you would just _leave_.”

Rose recoiled, clutching the edge of the counter to steady herself. They looked at each other beneath the weight of what was said and unsaid, until Rose’s big brown eyes began to water and Rey left the room.

When she finally came out of her room an hour later Rose was gone. The kitchen was spotless. A container of mini pies in the fridge, meticulously made. Each one with an even amount of bananas and curls of chocolate on top. There was a note.

_Went to Armie’s._

She thought about texting her but didn’t know what to say. They’d had disagreements before. Minor squabbles that a glass of wine could always fix. But Rey didn’t know how to apologize for something like this. Something that she knew she hadn’t meant, not really. She wasn’t sick of Rose. She was just sick of trying not to think about him. She was sick of hearing it.

The echoing from a box, nailed shut and forced to the back of her mind, beneath and behind all the others. But still she heard it. Pleading with her to open it.

The next day she replied to some emails. One from Jannah, the curator at Malbus & Îmwe, informing her that the anonymous buyer had loaned her painting, _Sanctuary Moon_ , to the Longworth Gallery in London. Three of her paintings were now on display there. She wasn’t sure if they were all ones that he had purchased. If he had a contact there. If he’d somehow manipulated them into showing her work. It should have thrilled her, having her paintings in her hometown, at what seemed to be a lovely gallery. Instead it made her feel sick.

Kaydel emailed about a charity auction hosted by the Holdo Group. It would be a small event, cocktail attire not black tie. She promised that it would be good for her to go — she could meet Amilyn and make some connections that she missed out on when she had to leave the Serreno Gala because she was ill. That Kaydel would be with her to navigate it.

Rey pulled up her calendar. It was in two weeks. She didn’t anticipate having an excuse not to go. And part of her did want to go to these things, even though she felt out of place. It was like being on a new planet, surrounded by awe. Even though he had been the reason she was even able to be invited, it was her work that kept the invitations coming. She was talented and people cared about her art. Right? Or could it all trace back to him?

_“Do you like any of them?”_

_“I don’t mind that one.”_

She hadn’t forgotten the tall, masked stranger who liked her painting. _I like the idea of life thriving in dark circumstances, I suppose._ And now she knew for sure who it was who took one of her hand-painted business cards that night.

Rey sighed, stretching her legs over the end of her bed. If she kept creating, kept bringing the blurs of images in her mind to canvas, kept meeting curators and gallery owners and art aficionados maybe she wouldn’t have to feel like she owed him, somehow. That it wasn’t because of him. She was fine.

It had been three days since Rose left and she still didn’t know what to say. A measly “I’m sorry” text wouldn’t cut it. But she was starting to feel the things that she kept buried even further than she’d buried him. The feelings of abandonment and loneliness. That no one wanted her.

She’d been in a particularly deep evening of self-indulgent self-loathing, watching only movies that had once made her cry and drinking her preferred depression drink, a bottle of rosé. A pint of half-melted pistachio ice cream resting on her stomach. The cold drips of condensation soaking into the black t-shirt that didn’t belong to her but she couldn’t get rid of. It still smelled faintly of sandalwood and cedar and laundry detergent and him. It was the most she’d allowed herself to be sad in weeks. Mostly she had clung to her anger, refusing to give in to tears.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table, rattling to the edge before she looked at the caller and begrudgingly answered on speaker.

“Hi, Finn,” she said, sticking the phone on her chest.

“I don’t know what happened but I know that whatever it was wasn’t like you,” he said without so much as a hello.

Rey sighed. “Finn—“

“No, I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen. I understand that you’re upset and you have every right to be but that doesn’t give you the right to treat the rest of us this way. Especially not Rose.”

Rey could feel the warmth of a tear slip from the corner of her eye. She dragged her body up and put her empty bottle of wine and container of ice cream down. Resting her head in her hands.

“We’re trying to be here for you. Rose is trying to take care of you and instead of letting her you lash out at her. We’re here for you. But you need to put your hurt from Ben aside and apologize. Let us help you.”

The tears gathered, blurring her vision. “I know. You’re right.”

“Rey, it’s okay to be upset but it’s also okay to let people love you. That’s all we’re trying to do. Just let us help.”

She took a shuddering breath. “You’re all leaving me, though.” Her voice was small, whispered from a long shut corner of her mind.

“We’re not—“

“But you are. You’re getting married and Rose is playing house and I’m still waiting for someone to come home. But no one’s coming. There is no home for me. People always leave.”

“We’re not leaving you. Not ever. Okay? Not ever. We love you.”

She was fully crying now, deep gulps of breaths and shaking sobs. Everyone always left. Her parents, whatever nobodies they were, didn’t want her. That pain ran deep. She’d thought she’d repaired it, slowly. Scavenging the pieces to put herself back together. But as sturdy as she thought she was, all it took was one hit to shatter the careful construction.

“Why does everyone leave?” She gasped, hugging herself tight. Finn kept talking but she couldn’t hear him over the sounds in her mind and her own shaky sobs.

Two shadows loomed in her thoughts — her parents, at the door of their dingy flat. Her father had dark hair, she thought, but he was faceless as he pat the top of her head. Her mother barely looked before she closed the door behind them. She was too young to know how to read a clock. But she had watched the light from the window gradually turn to dark. Her stomach had growled, but she curled up on the worn sofa, tufts of stuffing tickling her arms, and slept until morning. They hadn’t come back. She had to go to school. She was supposed to be at school. She’d eaten the only food she could find, a half-stale box of biscuits. She walked around the corner to school, her uniform stained and wrinkled. Her teacher asked why she was alone and she shrugged. They sang a song about a meadow and drew a picture of bunnies in a field. She’d been so hungry all day. No one was home. She knocked on Mashra’s door. They hadn’t come back. They didn’t come back. They wouldn’t come back. They weren’t coming back.

“Rey? Rey please say something,” Finn was talking to her, his voice around her.

She was in a black dress in an opulent ballroom, looking for the door. Surrounded by people. Heart pounding. Heels clicking on marble floors. She was the one who left. And Ben—

His face had been pale and his hands shook. What had he said? She couldn’t remember anything but his pleas. _I promise I’ll tell you everything_ — what was everything? _I can’t talk about it with him here_. She had left. For once she had been the one to leave. She had to leave. But his eyes. The eyes she found herself lost in — lost in the memories of their warmth. She left. She had left him. They had left her. They didn’t look for her.

Finn kept talking as she curled onto her side. They left her. She thought it or she said it or maybe it was both. _They just left_. _People always left her._

The lock twisted. The door to the apartment opened and shut and Rose was there, pulling her onto her lap, smoothing her hair as she cried and cried.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she said, gripping her arms closer to her. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Rose said, holding her tightly. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Eventually she tired herself out and drifted into a tumultuous sleep, plagued with dreams of a burning ballroom and an empty flat and a cabin in the woods, warm and inviting, but the door was locked. There was no home for her. She was alone.

When she woke it was the middle of the night. She was tucked into bed but she wasn’t alone — she was between her two best friends. She didn’t remember Finn arriving. They barely fit on her mattress. It reminded her of college — passing out in whoever’s bedroom was closest, making a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor and talking until nearly sunrise.

“Rey?” Rose whispered in the dark. “Are you awake? Are you alright?”

She shifted slightly, trying not to wake Finn. “Rose, I’m so sorry.”

Rose pulled her into a hug. “It’s okay.”

“But it’s not okay. I didn’t mean it. I just—I don’t know what to do.”

Finn slung his arm around both of them, holding their little trio close. “You don’t have to know what to do. You’re hurting, you’re allowed to hurt.”

The echoing began again, whispered through the shamble of boxes in her mind. Slipping between the overturned memories she’d assumed forgotten. _Come with me. Please_.

“Rey I know you don’t want to but I think you should talk to him. It’s eating away at the light in you.” Rose said, rubbing circles on her back.

“Maybe closure could help,” Finn added.

Rey didn’t say anything. She closed her eyes and steadied her breath, holding them both tight. Hoping for the type of dreamless sleep that emotional exhaustion wasn’t likely to give her.

Whenever she couldn’t sleep she thought about the golden ratio or plant watering schedules or the current beer list or color theory. She found herself thinking about darkness. About light and shadow. Black and white. And the many shades of grey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Rey's feelings of abandonment and loneliness play a large role in this chapter. I think if you'd like to avoid some of most emotional moments of that, skip the paragraph that starts with . 
> 
> Thank you for the love shown to this story each week. We're deep in the feels now, but we're getting closer to some long overdue explanations. 
> 
> Sanctuary Moon is another name for Endor.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forgiveness is a long road with many winding paths. It is not easy and feelings of hurt, of betrayal, of anger -- they can take a long time to heal.

Rey wasn’t sure if she was excited for another industry event. She wasn’t excited for much, if she was being honest. Kaydel sent a beautiful party dress, a black silk wrap-style that skimmed her knees and loosely covered her chest. Rose helped secure things with double-sided tape and pulled her hair into a half up style, casual but chic. They kept her makeup minimal so that she didn’t have to worry about reapplying lipstick. Rey borrowed one of Rose’s smallest handbags, quilted black velvet with a gold chain.

It was a small event, mainly a chance for her to make the connections she should have two months ago at the Serreno Gala. The bitter February air stung her bare legs in the brief moments from the cab to the hotel. A cheerful lobby attendant led Rey to a hall of function rooms. The Corelian was more modern than the Grand Coruscant. Instead of a grand ballroom there were four smaller function rooms. One had a sign for the Erso-Andor wedding, with bright lights peeking out beneath the door and the dimmed sounds of a band playing. One was empty. Another held the Thrawn sales conference, which seemed to be having some sort of cocktail hour — its doors were open. And the last, a large sign written in elegant script, was The Holdo Group Charity Art Auction.

In smaller font beneath it was the sponsor: The Organa Foundation.

A detail Kaydel had left out. Because she wouldn’t know that Rey knew the Organa-Solo family. And now she would have to face Leia alone, because Kaydel and her girlfriend, Jannah, had taken a surprise trip to Miami to see a new gallery. Rey left her cloak at the coatcheck and took a few deep breaths. Maybe she wouldn’t have to worry. Leia wouldn’t pressure her. She’d called Rey…and Rey hadn’t even listened to the message. What if she didn’t want to even speak to her? Because she hadn’t bothered to hear her out. To hear her son out.

She pulled up her voicemail and stared at _Leia Organa, 1:16, 21 December 2019_. If she listened to it now…instead she texted Rose for some courage and walked into the auction. There were rows of chairs in front of a small stage, tables of food lining the walls, and a bar in the corner. It was a smaller crowd, and she recognized a few faces from various gallery openings and events she’d attended in the last several months.

Amilyn Holdo was impeccable in a slim white pencil skirt and charcoal blouse, her lilac hair in soft curls. Tall and commanding but welcoming. She smiled at Rey and offered her hand.

“Rey Johnson,” she said, “finally! I’ve been hoping to meet for weeks but my schedule has barely let up since the holidays.”

Rey blushed, shaking her warm hand. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course! Are you alone?”

Rey nodded, smiling faintly at the many ways that statement was true. “My agent, Kaydel Connix, was supposed to come but—“

“Jannah surprised her with the trip to Miami. I could use some of that sunshine myself. They’re too cute,” Holdo said, grinning ear to ear. She placed a kind hand on Rey’s shoulder. “You’re in good company tonight, I promise. We’re supporting a few causes through the Foundation, all focused on youth and the arts.”

“I didn’t realize the Organa Foundation was sponsoring the event. I actually — I looked around for Leia—“

“I’m sorry to say that Leia couldn’t make it, she’s dealing with a broken water heater at the cabin. She sent her son in her place, though.” Rey’s heart stopped— she glanced around the room but didn’t see him. “He’s a nice man,” Holdo continued, taking quick sips of water. “If I see him before the auction starts, I’ll introduce you. He’s a bit shy but he’s tall, you can’t miss him.”

“Right, thanks,” Rey said, her throat suddenly dry. Finn and Rose’s voices filled her head. Maybe closure _could_ help. The thought of talking to him after weeks having conversations in her mind that went in circles…Maybe—

Maybe she needed something to drink. Holdo kept her company for a little while before she had to prepare for the auction. Having someone else to focus on kept Rey from outright panic.

On her way to the much-needed drink she ran into Chirrut and Baze and spent several minutes enjoying their presence. Admiring the quiet way they loved each other. It was unwavering and steady as the hand Baze kept on Chirrut’s back. They spent the winter in Mexico City but came back for the auction, offering a new piece with full proceeds of the sale for the Organa Foundation’s various charities.

Though her eyes wandered around the room, she didn’t see anyone tall with dark hair and impeccable clothes. No one with beauty marks on pale skin and eyes that wavered from sad to intense in an instant. The box in her mind made a small, helpless little sound. Calling out. But he wasn’t there. Maybe Amilyn was mistaken. Maybe he wasn’t coming.

The champagne was cold in her hands. The bubbles helped to keep her busy, though she still fidgeted with her hands on the glass. Trying to remember to hold it by the stem. The proper way. With her other hand she fiddled with the strap of her crossbody bag, twisting the chain. She wondered what it would be like to see him. Would he approach her? Or give her space? She’d made it pretty clear the last time she saw him that she didn’t want to speak to him. And her continued silence only reinforced that. Maybe he wouldn’t so much as look at her. Walk right by as if she didn’t exist. Perhaps he’d moved on. Met someone else to take on as his new charity project. Maybe she was an actress. Dreams of Broadway.

Or maybe he would beg for forgiveness. She liked the image of him on his knees. But she would have to talk to him to understand what she was really forgiving. If it was anything other than what she’d thought it was. And she wasn’t sure that she was ready to hear it.

There were little quiches and crudités and other small bites on silver platters. Leave it to the food to draw her attention. Rey made herself a sample plate with a few extra pieces of cheese to nibble on while she observed the various groups of people. It was a strange setting — though everything felt impersonal compared to the ostentatious display at the Serreno Gala — but this room was more…corporate. Boring. Black metal chairs with vinyl cushions. Cheap black tablecloths on the tables. The walls were a truly depressing shade of tan.

The only thing that brought color and life to the event was the people. Artists and art-lovers brought out all the stops for an event. She’d felt almost plain compared to Chirrut, in his butter yellow satin jacket. Or Amilyn, with her purple hair and sequined heels. 

Something caught her eye — the swish of a skirt or the glare of a glass, she couldn’t be sure what, exactly, because when she looked in that direction she saw Ben, standing to the side of everything. A vice gripped her insides, pulling her breath and squeezing somewhere beneath her ribs.

She twisted away and pulled out her phone, anxious for a reply from Rose. There was none, so she sent a frantic second text: _Ben is here. What do I do?_

As her heart pounded she thought about her options. She could approach him first, tell him…she wasn’t sure what she would tell him. She could find the bathroom and hide there for twenty minutes until the auction started. The thought was starting to become more appealing the longer her insides churned. She dropped her empty plate and napkin on a table and smoothed her hands down her skirt. They were clammy, sticking to the silk. She picked her napkin back up and dried her palms.

“Hi, Rey.”

Her heart thumped and she shut her eyes. She turned and faced him. There was a palor to his features, a sort of tiredness that had settled deep in the planes of his face. His navy suit was slightly wrinkled, as if he’d had to rush, but it was tailored to his broad shoulders. Like all of his clothes. He wore no tie but there was a small, round pin at his lapel that she didn’t recognize. It was clearly old, set with what must have been chips of ruby. The shape was reminiscent of a bird, somehow. There was a twitchiness to his gaze, flicking from her eyes to the floor and back, one hand clenched in a fist in his pocket. Waiting for her.

“Hello,” she said, swallowing. Painfully aware of the rasp that came out on the second syllable. He still made her stomach flip. It wasn’t as if she’d expected him to look that much different. But she had hoped he wouldn’t have the same affect on her that he used to. She was wrong.

Ben tucked his other hand into his jacket pocket and cleared his throat. A few people smiled at him as they passed, telling him to say hello to his parents and other niceties. He took a hesitant step closer to her, just as she was planning her escape.

“I was—“

“We don’t have to pretend,” she said over him.

“What do you mean?”

“Look, we broke up or whatever and we don’t have to pretend that this isn’t extremely uncomfortable for both of us.”

“I don’t want it to be uncomfortable, Rey. I just want to talk to you. How are you?” He asked, finally keeping his dark eyes on hers, following her line of sight. She tried to look away but she kept coming back to them, the blinking lashes and beauty marks around them.

“Did you know I’d be here? Did you tell your mum to stay home so you could, what? Corner me in public?”

He grimaced. “No, I’m not — I’d hoped you’d be here. I wanted…”

She nodded, draining the rest of her drink. Pressing the glass against her arm, feeling the cool condensation against her suddenly warm skin. He cleared his throat.

“I tried calling but—“

“Yeah I blocked your number that night. You can’t be that thick.”

“Right. I assumed so. I wrote—“

“Yes I got a letter as well but must have misplaced it. I get a lot of junk mail.”

He nodded, and she felt…cold. Rose and Finn had encouraged her to talk to him. To somehow gain closure. But she was still too angry, too hurt. And seeing him — she felt something else, too. Something like longing. And she wanted to squash it the only way she knew how. The way that she pushed the longing for her parents aside. By letting herself feel rage. By absorbing all the hurt she felt and twisting it into something worse.

“You’ve every right to be angry with me,” he said, taking another step closer. She sidestepped him and started to make her way to the edge of the room. “Would you let me explain a few things, at the very least?”

She breathed, swallowing thick breaths that hurt her esophagus. The feelings of panic rising from her gut. The sound of a motorcycle, cresting a bend along a quiet forest-lined road, echoing through her mind. The feeling of a leather jacket beneath her fingers. Strong hands holding her. Mashra’s face when she told her that her parents weren’t coming back. The disappointment and shame and fear.

“Explain what?” She asked, continuing her slow journey around the room. Amilyn stood on the stage, shuffling papers at a podium. Chirrut and Baze had taken seats in the second row. Others began to gather their drinks and find seats. “That you bought my crap painting at a showcase and then placed yourself in every faction my life? It wasn’t enough to manipulate my entire career, you had to weave your way in everywhere. My job. My art. My bed.”

Amilyn waved to them with an elegant hand, a joyous smile on her face. Rey nodded at her, attempting a smile that she knew couldn’t be considered anything but a scowl.

“I bought the painting because I liked it—“

“Oh, of course, how silly of me to assume otherwise. How stupid of me to think you weren’t lying to me for three months about it. Would have kept lying about if you hadn’t gotten caught.”

She walked out of the room and across the hall, slipping into the empty function room. She needed to think. Needed the quiet. It ached to know that her talent — her success, her worth — it was all from him. Not her. The unused function room was dark. Tables were propped against the walls, chairs stacked in a corner. She could hear his measured steps behind her. Knew even the sounds of his tread. Her own feet slowed to a stop. The bracelet on her wrist twisted beneath her fingers as she breathed. He’d followed her — she assumed he would. She wasn’t sure if she’d wanted him to.

“This wasn’t me asking you to follow, you know.”

“I recognized you at the showcase. I wasn’t sure from where until later but I liked the painting, Rey, that’s the truth. I wanted it so I bought it. And I didn’t think too much about it afterwards. A few weeks later — that night at the bar…I stopped in for a beer and it was you and…you needed help. I wanted to help you. And then you let me stay, all night, even though you had it under control. I wanted to know you. I couldn’t just walk away.” He spoke quickly, refusing to let her interrupt.

“So you what? Demanded curators look at my work? Feature me on their walls?” She said, crossing her arms. She couldn’t look at him. It would make it worse to see his face.“Paid them off?”

“I had my assistant make a few inquiries, that’s all. I figured you must have been featured somewhere, you were clearly talented—”

“How many?”

“Just a couple of Holdo’s galleries, she and my mother—“

Rey spun around, facing him at last. The despair in his eyes and the downturned corners of his full mouth. “No, how many did you buy. How many of my sales were just your charity? How many galleries only gave a shit because _Kylo Ren_ came calling with a stack of money?”

“That isn’t why they showed your art and you know it. You’re talented, Rey. That’s all because of you. Why can’t you believe that I wanted the art for how it made me feel? That I bought it without an ulterior motive?”

“Because you knew it was mine! You were playing me. Using me like everyone else.” She pushed further into the room, looking for another door to slip through. Hoping he would give up. Begging him to follow. To spar with her more. To feed on her anger.

“Knowing they were yours doesn’t change anything. What I said to you that night — about life thriving in darkness, that’s how it’s felt working for these people for so long.”

“That was your choice — you took the job, you kept at it.”

“No — that’s not it. I signed a contract when I started that I didn’t examine very closely—“

Rey scoffed. “Oh, that’s rich. Mr. Meticulous didn’t read the fine print. I’m not as naive as you think I am, Ben. Or are you Kylo tonight?”

“I was young and angry and easily persuaded he—Snoke, he took advantage of that. I’ve been clawing my way through the dirt to buy my way out ever since.”

They’d made it to the far wall of the space, standing five feet apart on faded carpeting with a Persian pattern. The only light an exit sign behind them, giving a red glow to their skin.

“So what,” she said, “you just spend your days deciding which people are allowed their livelihood? Which ones will make the most money for good ol’ Ted Snoke and Sheev Palpatine? Who gets to surrender today?”

“You think I like deciding who gets to live in their new order? Do you really think I’m that heartless? Rey, you know me, you know—”

“I think power is power, and you made your choice about what was important when you took the job. Money over people.”

“I didn’t have a choice — or I thought I didn’t at the time. You had to let the past die when you took on a new name, right? That’s what I had to do to get out of the Organa-Solo shadow. I had to be someone else and stand on my own for once. It was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up—“

“—but you didn’t stand on your own, you were a puppet.”

“I know that, and I’ve been killing myself trying to cut the strings—“

“Why cut the strings when they’re made of gold?”

“It’s not about the money, Rey—“

“Oh, but money sure is nice, isn’t it?” She nearly purred the words. “With your fancy flat and your designer clothes and a motorcycle in a private garage. Can’t give all that up so can’t give up your lush job working for a vile—“

“I can’t just quit it’s not that easy—“

“Sure it is! You say two words, Solo, and it’s done. But you won’t. Or you would have already.”

“It’s not as simple as quitting, not for me. Not with them. They own me.” He shook his head and clenched his fist.

She spoke louder now, feeling the hot spike of anger creep up her throat. “God, you’re a coward. I didn’t think you were so afraid but I guess I don’t know you—“

“Yes you do — you do, Rey, you _do_ know me. Better than anyone. I’ve always been myself with you. Always. Who I am at work didn’t matter — I’m trying to sort that out. I’m getting out. And you know me—“

She pushed him, just one hand against his chest, but he staggered back. “No I don’t. If I really knew you, all these little truths wouldn’t hurt so fucking much. It’s lie after lie, Ben—”

“Don’t do that,” he growled, snatching one of her wrists and holding it, oddly gentle, the pad of his thumb pressed to her skin. “Don’t _physically_ push me away on top of everything else. Why can’t we just talk? You told me yourself that you valued honesty but not when it’s hard, is that it?”

“It’s not hard, it’s whatever story you need to craft for yourself.” She wet her lips and swallowed. “Whatever lie to tell yourself. To tell me.”

He scoffed and stepped closer, leaning in towards her face. A long finger pointed at her chest, skimming the silk of her dress. She could feel his breath on her cheek. “You’re the one crafting stories. Anything to make me into a monster without actually _listening_ to me! You’re so goddamn stubborn — always have your guard up—”

“Stop talking. You never talked this much before!”

“You’re right, I was just never angry before and I don’t particularly enjoy being angry with you, Rey. Forgive me for being flustered trying to explain myself while you continue to lash out at me. Keep striking until I give up, that’s your favorite tactic!”

“Stop it, just stop. I don’t want to listen to this…this bullshit. I’m—”

“Why should I stop? I have one leg in the river Styx might as well wade the rest of the way in. What is it that you’re so afraid of? Huh?”

She’d backed herself into the corner of the room, crowded by his broad shoulders. Could feel the warmth from his body enveloping her as her back pressed against the wall.

“Oh just shut up! I told you, I’m tired of talking—“

“What will it take for you to listen to me? Why start a fight only to just run away?” He paused,ducking his chin to be level with her face. Their eyes locked on each other. She could see herself reflected in the black of his pupils, blown wider in the darkness of the room. “What are you so afraid of?”

His voice was low and his nose grazed hers, the barest touch. A buzzing beneath her skin. She let out a gasp, quiet enough that she hoped he didn’t hear it. The wool of his blazer was soft beneath her curled hands. When had she reached for it? She held it tightly, half pulling him closer and half pushing him away. One of his hands rested on her hip, the heat bleeding through the silk of her dress to the skin beneath.

“I’m not afraid,” she whispered, her chest rising and falling with her uneven breaths. “I’m furious.”

He let out another exasperated growl and pulled her mouth to his in a searing kiss. She knew she should push him away. Push him back and march out the door on the other side. If he tried to grab her hand she would rip it free. If he begged her she wouldn’t hear it.

Instinct had her grabbing at his neck, digging her short nails into the slope of his shoulders. She burned, so deeply it was consuming her from the inside out. There was no pushing him away now. She wanted to leave bruises with her teeth, her hands, her lips. The way that it felt when she saw him standing in the shadows, asking her to listen — like the hurt was too great, and she couldn’t just ignore it. There had to be another place for it to go.

Ben trailed hot kisses down her neck, his hands gripped her hips, her neck, her arms, pulling her even closer, their bodies slotting together when he pressed his leg between hers. Breathing harshly as she became aware of just how much she still wanted him — felt the evidence of how much he wanted her, too. She held his arms and stuttered, “This doesn’t mean I forgive you or believe you.” His hips ground into hers and she gasped when his teeth closed over the sensitive flesh of her shoulder. “It’s…it’s just—“ he rolled his hips again, massaging her rear with one hand and tilting her head to look at him with the other. “We’re just—“

“I thought you wanted to stop talking,” he said, taking the swell of her lower lip between his teeth, tugging it as his tongue flicked out to taste her. Rey’s thighs squirmed, tightening against him, and she pushed his shirt up with a moan. Greedy movements of her fingers up and across his smooth chest then back down to his belt. Pulling the fine leather until it was unbuckled.

“I wanted _you_ to stop, I never said I would—” He lifted her with one arm looped around her back and pressed her spine into the wall, positioning her so that her center rubbed against him. It was as if her body knew the course better than she did, considering the way her legs wrapped around his waist and clutched him closer, heels digging into him. She stopped talking after that, instead pouring her anger into his mouth with each stroke of her tongue and nip of her teeth. And his own matched her, the perfect sparring partner. Their kisses weren’t gentle, they weren’t sweet, but they were everything she wanted in that moment. Gone were the soft caresses and whispered endearments. _I hate you_ , she thought. _I hate you. I hate you._

A box rattled. It whispered over and over. _Liar._

With one hand supporting her back, he slipped the other between them. The silk of her underwear pushed aside and he stroked her, firm and fast, until she was panting in his ear. He twisted his wrist so that he could thumb at her clit and slide two fingers into her, pumping and dragging along her walls.

“More,” she breathed, feeling her eyes lull behind her lashes as he warmed her. He sucked at her neck, down to the spot where it met her shoulder, wrapping his fist in her hair and tugging. A bright burst of subtle pain. She needed more. She didn’t want to ask again. She finished opening his trousers and took him in hand, squeezing the length of him and guiding him inside. At last he took the hint and pounded her against the wall, alternating between savage, raw kisses and what felt like apologies whispered between their lips in gasps as they found a rhythm. As his fingers coaxed her higher.

When they both shattered within a few seconds of the other, she took a few shuddering breaths before pushing his shoulders and lowering her legs to the ground after he pulled out. She fixed her underwear. They breathed heavily for another minute.

When she looked at him it was like reliving every heartbreak in her little life, the memories tucked away in boxes in her mind for so long shaking, trying to escape. But the loudest of all was made of dark wood and smelled of palo santo and black coffee and Red Squadron. It felt like a cozy cabin upstate, surrounded by green trees and crisp air. It felt like home. But she had no home.

Her eyes flicked to his.

“Rey, I know you feel it too—“

She backed away from him and straightened her dress, tightening the sash at the waist. “Just because I had a momentary lapse in judgement doesn’t mean I feel anything. Nothing’s changed.” Her voice shook. She’d hoped to sound strong but she was tired — tired of feeling angry. Tired of giving in to the part of her that thrived on rage. She needed to find the bathroom and clean herself up. There was a pulsing between her legs, eager for more, and she intended to shut it up. She wanted the boxes in her mind to stay in their corners and on their shelves, closed and covered in dust instead of bursting at the seams.

“I never intentionally lied to you, Rey.”

“No, but you withheld a lot of truths and isn’t that the same thing? Isn’t that the definition of betrayal?”

He looked at her, unguarded. Dark eyes full of misplaced hope, longing, and a deep-rooted sadness —something she was so used to seeing in her own reflection. “You’re right,” he said softly, almost to himself. “You’re right, Rey.”

It was hard not to try to comfort him. Her traitorous heart wanted to take him in her arms, to stroke his hair and kiss the slim tears that fell in single file down his cheek, leaving a trail. A river of a scar on his handsome face.

“There’s things I want to tell you. I hope you’ll let me explain someday. Until then, I—I won’t bother you. I’ll stay away.”

Rey looked at him for a moment, then he seemed to nod to himself as he buttoned his suit jacket and crossed to the other side of the room and out the door.

The tidy little box opened at last, and she didn’t try to put its contents back inside of it. They slithered into corners and onto the highest shelves. The lamplight hum of a night that had just begun taking residence behind her eyes. A cantina, serving after hours in the deepest recess. A painting, black and red and blue and purple, standing behind it all. A deep voice saying _home_.

It all crashed over her in a single moment, a single gasp —

She realized her hand was held out, as if she wanted him to take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Corellia](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Corellia) is Han Solo’s home planet therefore he is a Corellian and that’s the nerdy reference.
> 
> [Jyn Erso](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Jyn_Erso) and [Cassian Andor](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Cassian_Jeron_Andor) are from _Rogue One_ and their initials made an appearance on the Cantina table in chapter 3 :)
> 
> [Thrawn](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Star_Wars:_The_Thrawn_Trilogy) is a post OT series from the Legends days that my older brother wishes was the plot of sequel trilogy but the OT cast would have been too old for this plotline and no one else could play those parts in my opinion. N E way…
> 
> ***
> 
> Thank you for reading and for commenting, it's so lovely to see the response to this story. The angst train is nearing its final stop and so are we! Hard to believe there's only a few chapters to go. 🖤


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who knew a city so big could be so small?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The extremely talented [Soupe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soupe/pseuds/Soupe) made the most amazing art. Not sure I will ever recover emotionally from such a special gift. I really love the way that she captured looks of longing on their faces and the way that, just beneath their hands, the colors blend into purple. It's incredible. 🖤  
> .

Over the next two weeks she ran into him everywhere. First, outside an office building on 73rd where she was picking up Rose’s dry cleaning for her. She had just left the building, holding the plastic-covered dresses aloft so that they didn’t touch the pavement. Texting Rose with one hand before glancing up to see him stopped a few feet away. Wearing a crisp black suit beneath a wool coat and black cashmere scarf around his neck. It was the middle of a work day. Nowhere near his office. He had a dentist appointment, he said, tucking a hand into his pocket. She nodded. He nodded. Then she turned and walked to a different subway entrance that required two transfers to get to her next location rather than walk in the same direction as him.

Three days after that she was waiting in line to pay for a book of Hubble telescope images at a used book store in Williamsburg. Tapping her foot aimlessly and flipping through the pages of the $8 coffee table book. The shop was not far from the studio where her latest supernova painting sat half finished. She had started it before they’d crashed into each other at the event and hadn’t been able to work on it since. It had been months since she'd gone this long without painting. There was a buzzing in her brain, from each corner, at all hours, telling her to get the whole story. She’d been thinking of him. Had been thinking of him constantly. And there he was, three people ahead of her. As if she’d wished him there. When he turned to leave they locked eyes. Instead of stopping to try to talk to her he merely nodded and went on his way, out the door. Leaving her feeling something she didn’t quite want to feel. A squeezing beneath her ribs.

On her break at the Resistance that Monday, she walked four blocks to pick up falafel and a shawarma for Chewie. Maybe stop by the doughnut shop for a few maple frosted. She’d been lost in thoughts of food, music playing from her earbuds — a playlist of lyrics that only fueled her feelings. And there he was. Pulling his helmet off and running a hand through his hair. She squeaked a hello and kept walking, her mind holding onto the rumpled expression at his brow. Was it confusion? Was it anger? Was it hurt? Or was it something else?

When she got back to the bar she pressed play on the voicemail that Leia had left her, two months ago. “Hi, Rey, it’s Leia. I know my son has a lot to apologize for and it isn’t my place to get in the middle of that. But I want you to know that if you ever need to talk, well, you have my phone number. Call me anytime, dear. You’re always welcome in our home. Take care.”

She wasn’t sure what to make of that, either.

A few days later she was at K2SO again. She went almost weekly. Bodhi was insistent that she continue to experiment with her style — there was a demand for it.

“I still can’t believe it’s been almost six months since I first came here. It’s like I live here now,” Rey said, sitting across the desk from him.

“Well, four of your paintings live here, at least for the next week or so,” he replied, typing up the sale agreement for a painting that sold the day before. It was smaller, one of her older paintings of a particularly gruesome looking aloe vera, ripped up at the root. Visible spots of rot. She’d found it among some of her paintings from college, stacked under her bed. She hadn’t brought a new painting in for a few weeks, so when she had brought it to Bodhi she didn’t think it would do that well, seeing as it was not what she was now known for. But he’d found a place for it on her wall, and it sold a few days later.

The gallery was quiet, not that Rey expected there to be crowds of people there on a random Thursday at the end of February. There was a hum in her mind, from all of the things that had scattered out of their box. The sound of a motorcycle engine just starting up. A low rumble that carried through the spaces between all of the things that she kept.

“Bodhi,” she said, twisting her hands in her lap. He didn’t look up just mumbled in agreement. “Remind me how you first found my work,” she asked, a bit tentative.

“Huh?” He was distracted, pulling papers from the printer and signing and dating them.

“I guess Kylo Ren was really persistent.”

“Who?” He asked, squinting at the numbers.

“Didn’t his assistant call you? Dopheld Mitaka?”

“What a fucking mouthful of a name. No, I heard from a buyer who was at the showcase. Jessika Pava, she works for one of Amilyn’s more traditional spaces. She told me to check out your portfolio and I did. It wouldn’t have fit in at Gatalenta but Jess is always good about sending things my way.”

“Really?” Rey was surprised to hear it. Clearly.

“Look, it was one of the messiest digital portfolios I had seen in at least 5 years—“

“I’ve updated it!”

“But despite the ancient website, I liked the work. That was how I found you. Lucky for me you were desperate enough to come here first instead of Jannah’s—”

“Well, actually, I sold a few paintings to her first.”

Bodhi sighed. “She’s always one step ahead of me. But I think I’ve managed to snap up most of your more recent work so who’s the hotshot now?”

Rey smiled at him. It was a long subway ride home, fidgeting with her scarf and trying not to think about Ben. Of course she failed, hearing his voice — seeing his face — she could have sworn she could smell him, which made her feel only a little bit insane. And that she was possibly standing too close to the man beside her, who gave her a look of distaste when he caught her stare.

She had the night off. Nothing to do until her Friday shift, the only thing likely to help keep her thoughts at bay. But now, at her apartment, she contemplated. _What if—_

First she dragged the painting out from behind her bed. The one she had made months and months ago. A galaxy in the depths of his dark eye. It had stayed behind her headboard since she’d finished it. The canvas was dusty — a few strands of hair clung to the bottom corner. As she pulled the dust from it she found the letter, resting against the back of the frame. One corner singed. She put it on her desk and went to make dinner. It called to her as she pulled produce from the fridge. _Read it._ A frying pan from the cupboard. _Open it_. Olive oil from above the stove. _Maybe if you read it—_

She left it all on the counter and stepped back into her room. With a quick breath and the shake of her head, she slid her thumb beneath the envelope flap. Inside was a sheet of stationary, folded in a crisp, even line. The corners perfectly aligned. The paper was thick and creamy — expensive, likely. Neat handwriting in deep blue ink. He used a fountain pen because of course he did. It was elegant and antiquated and so very Ben. She couldn’t focus with the incessant noise. _Open it. Read it._

So she did.

> _Rey—_
> 
> _I could write you the longest letter full of confessions and apologies but I don’t know that you’d read it. Instead I hope I can at least explain one thing._
> 
> _Before you, I was alone. Trapped in a job I hate, working for a man who manipulated me at every turn. Stuck in a contract that a team of lawyers is still trying to help me get out of. I merely existed. Everything was dark. Then I accompanied a friend to a masquerade — I didn’t want to go. But being able to hide behind a mask was appealing, so I did. I thought I would just follow him around until I could reasonably make an excuse to leave. And then I found myself captivated by all of the art there. Especially one piece at the very back of the room. Tucked away where most people wouldn’t see it. I saw myself in that painting._
> 
> _I don’t know how many minutes I spent in front of it before a beautiful woman stood next to me. And she smiled at me, telling me she was the artist. I could breath again and I didn’t realize that I hadn’t truly taken a breath in years until that moment. I had to have the painting — I had to hold onto the feeling it gave me when I saw you smile._
> 
> ~~_I think_ ~~
> 
> ~~ _It felt_ ~~
> 
> _It was hope. It was everything I needed._
> 
> _I didn’t think I’d see you again. I was so glad when I did. There’s more that I want to tell you, Rey. Please call me. Or write me. Or send a carrier pigeon. I promise I’ll answer. I don’t expect you to forgive me but I promise I’ll tell you everything. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry._
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Ben_

She opened a bottle of wine and ordered pizza. The pasta with vegetables she'd planned to make herself abandoned. Rose found her on the couch. The bottle in her hand. A half-eaten pepperoni and black olive pizza on the floor. The letter draped across her chest like a blanket.

Rose glanced from the floor to Rey, her brown eyes lingering on the sheet of paper.

“You opened the letter,” she said.

“I opened the letter,” Rey answered, taking a swig of wine and swallowing hard. She carefully unfolded it and handed it to Rose without ceremony.

She read it quickly, letting out a low whistle, then read it again before handing it back to Rey.

“Rose, what do you think I should I do? Honestly.”

She sighed, nudging Rey to sit up so that she could sit beside her on the couch. “Rey, I didn’t tell you this before because it didn’t seem important at the time—“

“ _What_?”

“Wait, that’s not what I mean,” Rose rubbed the back of her neck. “The night we all met Ben, when he and I were talking at the bar, he said something that…I guess sort of stuck with me.”

“Rosie, can we get to the thing. You know I hate when you’re cryptic.”

Rose took a deep breath, her eyes scrunched closed while she remembered. “He said that hope is like the sun. It was something his mom told him, I think. But—“

“What were you even talking about to get him to say something poetic?” Rey interrupted, dragging her hands over her face.

“I told him that I’d never seen you as happy as you were then, and that I hoped he knew how special you are.”

“And he said hope is like the sun? I don’t really get what you’re going for here—“

“He said something about being in the dark for a long time. That being with you was like standing in the light. And it gave him hope. It just — it was genuine. I asked him why hope was so important and that’s what he said. It’s…I dunno, Rey, it just seems like he’s genuine.”

Rey was quiet, turning everything over in her mind. As she had been for weeks.

“And I think…” Rose started, then trailed off. “Nevermind.”

“No, please, tell me. Tell me what you think. I need — I don’t know what I need.” Rey said, taking another drink. “But I know that you have been known to know better than I do.”

“He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who does things without a reason. I think that you’re afraid—

“I’m not—“

Rose gave her a look and Rey nodded.

“I think you’re afraid, and your instincts are always to run. Or to fight. But you did both of those things and you’re still here asking the same questions. You ran from him at the gala and you fought with him…And I mean, you also did _more_ than fight—“

“Rose.”

“Forgiveness takes time, I get that. Especially for you. It was a betrayal and lies…But I think until you know the whole story, you’re always going to wonder. He’s too much a part of you now.”

It hit her then, what Rose meant. He had slowly made his way into her little world. Had understood her in a way that she’d always needed someone to. Gave her a taste of what home could feel like. Of what love could feel like.

_Let me help you_

_I know that feeling_

_I did a lot of horrible things I’m trying to make up for_

_Until we get home._

Everything he’d made her feel washed through her mind like a wave, cresting against rocky cliffs. The crashes of hurt and anger but the softer feelings too, like a sea spray. And she stood atop the cliff, scared but something else. Determined. Ready to face it. Ready to let it come over her. To see the tide ebb. To find a path through the unforgiving earth to the shores below. She didn’t know what she would find when she got there. But for the first time in weeks she wanted to try. To take that uneasy first step into danger. Into the unknown. And maybe there would be someone there to help her. To take her hand.

On Friday she worked the early shift, pouring beers for lunchtime office escapees and tourists. The same old crowd she was used during the day. It wasn’t that busy but it was at least steady. Whenever anyone ordered a Red Squadron she tensed. But she hadn’t run into him in a week. At least, not in person. He lounged in the center of her mind, a long leg slung over the arm of a large chair. Waiting for her. Once Paige arrived she went up to the office to get her things. Eyes snagging on a photo of Maz. Sitting in a rocking chair on a cabin porch.

It was twilight when she left. The sky a lovely shade of violet behind the bright lights of the city and beneath the grey clouds. It was the last day of February. She was cold as she walked to the end of the block, then turned. Letting her feet carry her. She passed the corner where she always got a hotdog after a closing shift. It was too early for it — Dex wouldn’t come to this neighborhood until at least ten. She turned down a few other streets, walking by the Cantina where she could hear a band playing when the door opened to let out someone desperate for a smoke. Soon she was as far as Washington Park. All the while she thought about Ben and what she knew.

Bodhi had said he looked at her portfolio after a buyer had thought her style would suit the types of works he liked to feature at K2SO. But he’d also complimented her art, consistently. Even now, when her style had changed rather dramatically. And Jannah continued to request new pieces, too. Then there was Kaydel — she’d worked hard to get Rey into even more galleries. To request buyers to loan their paintings to galleries in other cities, broadening her scope even further. To get her invited to openings and galas and auctions. That wasn’t something Ben did. If anything, he stepped back after they’d started seeing each other, just based on the dates of his purchases.

As she retraced their walk she thought about the quiet ways that he supported her. Not financially by buying a few paintings. But really supporting her as a person. He listened to her. Thoughtfully. She’d been able to confide in him with ease. And that wasn’t because he made her. It was because he was vulnerable with her in a way that she’d needed someone to be. They’d connected, as if across galaxies. Like the painting she’d made him that hung in his living room. Unless he’d taken it down.

She knew where she was before she glanced up. It wasn’t as if she’d planned to walk there but she kept making the turns. Like it was always the destination. The little beacon on the map that flashed red. The call from within saying _you miss him._

She stood outside the brick apartment building, eyes on the fourth floor. The buzzer was loud. The button cold under her gloveless fingers.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me—It’s Rey.”

There was a pause and the door clicked open. She walked across the small lobby, nodding at the security guard. Her heart raced as the elevator crested to the top.

Before she could knock he opened the door. His hair was a little rumpled. Wearing the sweater he loved, the one with the holes and soft yarn. He was barefoot.

“Hello, Rey.” He said, one hand on the door, the other curled at his side. He was tentative, she realized. Unsure if she meant to come inside. If she was there to fight with him again.

“I went for a long walk,” she said, and he eyed her curiously. She, instead, eyed the carpet in the hall. The grey paint on the walls. Every word taking longer to come out. “Just all around, really. By the Cantina and Washington Park…”

When she looked back at him his jaw was tense but he nodded and opened the door wider. “Would you like to come in?”

She stepped into the apartment and bent to take off her boots.

“You can keep them on if you want—“

“No, I know you don’t like shoes in the house. I can take them off,” she said, tucking them by the door. Next to his on the mat. She hesitated before removing her jacket and hanging it — she was wearing a large black t-shirt — his t-shirt — knotted at the waist and topped with her faded grey flannel. Ben leaned against the kitchen counter. She glanced around the apartment, eyes snagging on her painting. Everything seemed the same but it felt different, somehow.

“Can I get you a glass of water or maybe a tea since you walked in the cold…”

“Sure. Water.”

Ben seemed relieved to have something to do. He filled a glass using the filtered water he kept in the fridge. No ice, because he knew she had sensitive teeth.

For a minute she took a few sips. Despite the temperature outside she was warm, and took off the flannel, draping it over a chair. Then she set the glass down on the counter and went to sit on the couch. When he didn’t follow her she pat the velvet seat next to her. “Can we—Can you—“ She let out a sigh. “Just come sit down.”

He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing, before folding himself onto the couch. Forearms on his thighs and shoulders hunched forward. She angled her body to face him, tucking a foot beneath her. Really looking at him; the strong profile she’d sketched on the corners of slips of paper and old receipts whenever she had a pen. When she looked into his eyes she saw the little bits of green, peeking through the brown like moss on the forest floor.

“You said to me once—I doubt you even remember it but you said that even good people could cause pain. And you did. You absolutely did.”

“I know.” He paused. “I know.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and counted to five. When she looked back at him, she said, “Start at the beginning and tell me everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Only a few chapters left. The next chapter will be a long one — dear Ben has quite a lot to tell.
> 
> [Jessika Pava](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Jessika_Pava) is a Resistance pilot.
> 
> [Gatalenta](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Gatalenta) is Holdo's home planet and a very nice word to say.
> 
> I needed a name for Rey's hot dog guy and what better than a reference to [Dex's Diner](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Dex%27s_Diner), from _Attack of the Clones_.
> 
> Rey was listening to a lot of [these](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/arcticmonkeys/cornerstone.html) [ kinds](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/harrystyles/meetmeinthehallway.html) of [ songs](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/cure/picturesofyou.html) while walking around Manhattan and running into Ben. Do you ever make a self-indulgent sad playlist and what songs do you have on it?


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has always been Ben's tale. And Rey is finally ready to hear it.

A light snow fluttered outside the window, framed in the hazy orange glow of the streetlights. Rey always loved the snow. It was her favorite time of year in Arizona, when the desert nights turned blisteringly white. In New York snow meant train delays and grey slush and endless wind tunnels between skyscrapers.

But Ben’s apartment was warm. The velvet couch beneath her was comfortable. A knit throw casually draped across the arm of the couch was ready, should she feel the need to curl up beneath an oatmeal and sage blanket.

She sunk further into her seat and watched Ben take a breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“I guess I should just start?” He said. She nodded. There was a queasiness just beneath her skin, anticipating a lot of things that she wasn’t sure she was prepared to hear.

“I told you I went to live with my uncle for a while. My parents suggested it when I started to get…difficult. They weren’t around and I didn’t want them around so I left. Luke— my uncle — lives out in the middle of nowhere in Vermont. Spends most of his time farming and woodworking and shit like that. It was different.”

“Not sure I can picture you on a tractor,” Rey said, leaning her cheek against the back of the sofa. It helped ease her anxiety to make little jokes with him, like they used to.

“It wasn’t that kind of farm,” he said, lips forming a semblance of a smile before settling back into a grim line. “I lived there a few years, went to this hippie private high school. I didn’t really have friends. Spent a lot of time out on the bike, wishing I was anywhere else. When I graduated I moved home for the summer but it was like my parents were strangers. They barely spoke to each other, they were always off doing their own thing — my dad was in plays and off filming and mom was always at charity events and fundraisers. I was just as alone there as I was out in the country. And then I went to a dinner at the dean’s house, the first week of school at Chandrila. My parents made a donation so they invited me. And I met Edmund Snoke.”

Rey sat up, placing both feet on the floor. The look on that man’s face the night of the gala had permeated her thoughts in the most random moments. She’d think she saw him on the subway, at the opposite end of the car. Or she’d see that cold sneer in her mind, just before falling asleep. It was a cruel face. She would never sketch it, even though she could picture it so clearly.

“He was…I don’t know, I guess charming is one word for it. Some people are just good at reading people and he was—is. He could tell in that one evening that I was directionless and angry and lonely. I was lost and he was there to help. Offered me a job. He lead a seminar once a week on statistical economics — I won’t bore you. There was a lot of technology he said he needed help with so I would set up his lectures and help with all the things he couldn’t ask of a TA. And I learned a lot, sitting in on his lectures. He started to mentor me. Told me what classes to take. Which instructors to avoid. What internships to apply for. But he wanted me to work for him, so I did.”

Ben flicked his eyes from Rey’s to his hands a lot. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over his index finger, an anxious tic she’d noticed months before. There was tension in his shoulders.

“I interned for him for three years and he overpaid me. ‘Benjamin,’ he always called me that even though he knew it wasn’t my name, ‘Benjamin, you need to escape from the shadow of your parents. Consider this your way out. Let me help you.’”

Rey scoffed and walked to the kitchen for her glass of water, refilling it before returning to the couch. She fixed the blanket before sitting down. “Of course he’d give you money as a form of control. Just to keep you in his claws.”

Ben’s eyes widened in surprise. “Yes, exactly. Once I was out of my parents’ financial support he could mold me to be whatever he wanted me to be. When I graduated I took on a pseudonym. He suggested it and I didn’t want anyone to think I was using my name to get ahead. Snoke offered me a job as a Junior Analyst. Every couple years he’d promote me and I’d sign a new contract. A couple of years ago…”

He sighed, dragging his hands over his face. Rey swallowed. The bits of fear she’d felt when she arrived had slowly turned into something else entirely. It wasn’t pity — she knew better than to pity someone for their past. It was an intense protectiveness for the young man he had been. The lost boy who followed the wrong signs, letting everything in his past wither away. Even the good things — the things, like his relationship with his parents, worth repairing. The things that she herself never had.

“It’s all right, Ben, you can tell me.”

“For a while I wasn’t talking to my parents or anyone, really. Just Snoke and occasionally Palpatine, if he had any wisdom to dispense. Or demands of my time.” He laughed darkly. “My assistant was probably the closest thing I had to a friend and he didn’t know anything about me outside of my meetings schedule and where to pick up my dry cleaning.” He paused, then said, “I envy you.”

“How can you possibly be jealous of me? I regularly eat spoonfuls of peanut butter as a meal—”

“You have friends who care about you enough to tell you when you’re going down the wrong path. A mentor who supported your dreams, not manipulated them for his own benefit.”

Rey pulled her legs back onto the couch, hugging them to herself and resting her head against her knees. “You were alone,” she said softly to the denim beneath her face.

“I signed a contract without really reading it. I trusted Snoke. There was a clause in it that for every commission I made consulting for him, I owed half of it to Snalps Ventures if I ever left. I realized it when I told him I wanted to try to do something more meaningful. Change my career path. My mother was doing such good things and I— I missed my family. We’d slowly begun to have a relationship again and I started seeing a therapist. It was clear that I needed to leave my job.”

“When was this?”

He settled his gaze on her. “Four years ago.”

“But…why? Why so long, I mean.”

“I had to earn out of my contract — an astronomical amount. More than I could reasonably make in a year. Or even two. But this clause in the contract was definitely not legal. I’ve been working with a lawyer to ensure the validity of it isn’t a question and to get restitution from Snalps Ventures for everything I’ve paid back. And in addition to that I’ve been…trying to buy the rest of the block the Resistance is on from him. I was able to get Maz’s building and the one next-door but Snoke purchased the surrounding buildings once he’d heard what I’d done behind his back. It’s been—I spend a lot of time in conference rooms with lawyers, his and mine.”

Rey chewed on her lip. “Sounds dreadful. Like being in a room with Hux for hours.”

He surprised her by barking a laugh and shaking his head. “This city is so fucking small. Hux is one of my lawyers.” Ben laughed into his hand and she smiled too, confused. “You never said his name before that night with your friends. He was just always Rose’s boyfriend the lawyer. I didn’t know what to do when he showed up that night. I just kind of panicked. He met me as Kylo Ren, stuck in a shit contract with a fucked up boss. It’s been years of us working together to end my contract so he knows my real name. He couldn’t breach our confidentiality agreement so…”

“He covered for you,” Rey whispered, thinking of how she’d grown to like Hux for the way he care for Rose. The quiet devotion there, visible if you looked for it. And that devotion extended to his friends, too.

“We’re friends now, as much as I can be friends with someone I’m paying for a service, I suppose. I meant it when I told you he was a decent guy. Hell of a lawyer, too. Between him and Phasma I should be free of this soon. ”

If he were to leave Snalps Ventures, to really leave it, what would he do? Where would he go? She wondered if he would escape to the woods for a while. Or maybe abroad. But then she remembered something he’d said.

“Did you really buy the Resistance?” Rey asked.

“I did — and the deed’s in my name.” He paused. “My real name. He can’t take it from me but he’s certainly tried. I think he bribed the building inspector to say it was condemned. He doesn’t want to go to court over my contract and frankly, neither do I. It would end up all over the papers and my parents…I don’t want to put them through that. So for now I just have to wait for it all to be settled behind closed doors.”

Rey nodded and turned to look at the snow out the window. It was heavier now, a true blizzard. She wondered how many inches they would get. If she’d be able to enjoy the fresh blanket of powdery snow before it was trampled beneath feet and blowed from the sidewalks.

“Ben, where are the paintings?”

His cheeks pinked. “Most of them are on loan to the Longworth Gallery in London. I used to go there a lot whenever we were in town. It’s right next to this café I like. I sent pictures to the owner and Karina loved them, so I had them shipped to her.”

“What about the first one? I asked Kaydel if anyone loaned _Scavenger’s Light_ to any galleries and she said she didn’t think so.”

“No I would never — It’s in my office. Or it was until recently.”

Rey looked away. Until recently, when she’d yelled at him. Fought with him. “Oh. Right. Of course.”

“No, not like that — I mean. I brought it home. It’s hanging in the bedroom now.”

“It would be nice over the—“

“Dresser. Yeah, that’s where I put it.”

She nodded, twisting the bottom of her shirt — his shirt — in her fingers. When she’d put it on that morning she didn’t think too much of it. She’d kept wearing it even though it had long stopped smelling like him. “Why did you move it?”

“He’d asked me about it, once. Kaydel is one of his art consultants. I’d seen her at the office once or twice. I guess I didn’t want him to know but I think he must have figured out who you were. Called me back from Chicago early, said he needed me here. It’s been easier to just go along with these little requests while I wait for the lawyers to settle everything. So I flew back and put on a tux and went to the Serreno Gala to represent the company. But there he and his husband were. It didn’t make sense for me to be there. I didn’t understand what game he was playing. And then there you were.”

There she was. Surprised to see him. Out of place in a gown in a fancy hotel ballroom drinking champagne she couldn’t afford.

“After the Gala,” Ben continued, “I realized he must have known you were someone special to me — there was a picture of my parents in the tabloids. Something about how healthy Han Solo looked after his brush with death. The usual. Only you and I were in the background and he must have connected the dots. Knew it would hurt me to be at the same place you were, using a different name than the one you knew. I think you were just…collateral. Like everyone else in the world. He doesn’t care about anyone.”

That was obvious even to the most outside observer like Rey. What she knew of him from a cursory internet search. Anyone with the means and ability to help those in need but would _choose_ not to — well, she had a few thoughts about where and when they could fuck themselves. It made her want to research building a guillotine.

“Things started to get worse when I reconnected with my dad. I don’t think Snoke liked the thought of being replaced, in a way. As my source of advice or whatever else he thought he gave me. He once told me that our hearts are our biggest weakness. And he knew how to exploit mine the minute he learned your name.”

She watched his hands, resting on his legs. The way his knuckles retracted as he dragged the tips of them over his jeans and back, so carefully. With the slowness of reaching out to a wounded animal, she stretched her arm across the small space between them. And she put her hand on his. Caressing the back of it with her thumb before pulling it away.

“I believe that you liked the paintings and that’s why you bought them,” Rey said, tentatively. “But what I don’t understand is why you kept it from me.”

Ben ran a hand through his hair. He was so fidgety. It was nerves. Just like her own nerves caused her to twist her shirt and contort herself on the couch. He was usually so controlled.

“I didn’t want you to think…exactly what you ended up thinking when you found out. I wanted — I should have told you, right away, that I loved your work and had a few of your paintings. It was…” He sighed. “I’m extremely stupid.”

She snorted. “Yes, well, can’t deny that.”

“All I did was support an artist I liked. The rest of it— the rest of your sales were for the same reason I bought those paintings. People are drawn to your work. You earned your success. You can ask you agent or any of the galleries and they’ll tell you I didn’t—“

“I did ask them,” she said. “It’s…That’s part of why I wanted to talk to you. That and your letter.” They both breathed for a moment. “And then Rose said something — I don’t want to get it wrong but she said you told her something about me and hope. What was it?”

Ben swallowed quickly and the tips of his ears pinked. It had been a long time since she’d seen him flush like that, but it still gave her heart a squeeze.

“It was actually something my mom used to tell me. ‘Hope is like the sun — if you only believe in it when you can see it you’ll never make it through the night.’ It’s sort of a family mantra, I guess. For a long time everything felt like an endless night of waiting for the sun to come up.” He paused, and she let him take his time. “And then there was you. The sun.”

 _Empress of the Sun_ , he’d called her once.

“You read the letter?” He asked, his dark brows raised in surprise.

“A little later than I should have, but I did. I’m here.”

He nodded and glanced at his watch. The one that had belonged to his grandfather. “It’s getting late, you must be hungry.”

Indeed she was. She hadn’t stopped for dinner.

“I can make something,” he said. “And you can ask me whatever else you want to know. I’ll tell you anything, Rey.”

“Can you make that pasta that I like?” She asked, standing and stretching her arms up towards the ceiling. For the first time all night, he smiled. His softest smile — no teeth, and the slightest hint of dimples. It was boyish and sweet and she knew that she’d hold it in her hands if she could, to keep it safe.

“I think I have some bucatini,” he replied, reaching through the cupboards.

Rey loved to watch him cook. He approached everything with an effortless expertise. First, he filled a large pot with water and added a generous handful for salt. He told her once that this helped to season the pasta. Hopeless in the kitchen she might be, but she did know that much.

“You said you bought the building next to the Resistance.”

Ben crushed peppercorns and toasted them in a pan, adding a few ladles of pasta water. Everything sizzled and let off little puffs of steam.

“I did,” he said, “but it’s in rough shape. I’ve been having it renovated for the last few months.”

“I know, we’ve heard the construction during the day.” She replied. The sound drove Chewie nuts. He kept to the kegs while Maz had taken to wearing headphones while working on the books in the office. For the most part, the work didn’t overlap with customers but when it did, Rey just played her music a little bit louder. “What are you planning to do with it?”

“I’m not completely sure yet but my mother’s helping me figure it out. The foundation will likely be a cofounder. I want there to be a place…Normally I’d think this sounds a little, I don’t know, hopeful and bullshit but I think you’ll get it.” He said, adding finely shredded pecorino to the pepper and mixing it to create a velvety sauce that Rey could eat with a spoon. But she was patient enough to wait for the pasta to finish cooking.

“ Think I’ll get what?”

“When I was younger I think what I needed most was a safe place to go and just be around art and music and culture. All the things that I wanted for myself but couldn’t really access in a way that was just for me. That I didn’t have to share with my parents or people who wanted to know my parents… And I think for a lot of kids they find safety in creating, like you did with painting.”

“Are you thinking of turning it into some kind of school?”

Ben drained the pasta and added it to the sauce, stirring it gently so that every bite would be perfect. He had a patience with cooking that she didn’t possess. She’d have just boiled the noodles, added butter and called it a meal.

“I’m thinking it would be more of a collective — a gallery meets community center. A place where kids can create and share and learn from each other without having to worry about the cost. It’s coming together but still a few months away from having any legs. I reached out to Dameron, too.”

He handed her the perfect bowl of cacio e pepe and refilled her water glass before sitting beside her at the high counter of the kitchen. The view from the window was nearly all white with snow. The type of blizzard that could shut down the city if it went on for too long. Rey hoped it would. She wanted time to stand still, for just a bit longer.

“I think it sounds incredible, Ben,” she said before tucking in.

As they ate they talked about different ways that the building could function and how it could be funded. They talked about his hope that Maz could continue to run the Resistance unbothered, that his initial inquiries into the financial stability of the bar was so that he was in a better position to help set it on a path for future success. When he was finally free of Snalps he intended to take Mitaka with him. The man had an aptitude for managing day to day affairs. Halfway through the meal Ben poured them wine. Like it was any another dinner together. And it was.

While she helped him with the dishes she kept sneaking glances at his profile. The meticulous way he scrubbed at each pan before handing it to her to dry. The strong line of his nose and plush lower lip. The eyes she could paint from memory.

“I forgive you,” she said, taking the last dish from him and setting it atop the tea towel.

Ben shut the water off and stared at her. “You do?”

She held a clean towel and reached out to dry his hands, smoothing the fabric over his palms and holding them between her own.

“I do. It— I’m probably going to be at least a little bit mad about some things for a while.”

“You can be angry with me for as long as you like,” he said, the corner of his lips turning.

“I don’t plan on it being forever but I just thought you should know. In case I shout at you without warning.”

“Shout at me if you like.”

“I do.”

They’d dropped the towel on the counter but held onto each other’s hands, not holding them fully. Tracing the fine bones and callused skin before dropping them and taking a step apart.

“Just— I don’t want to be afraid to tell you things. And I don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell me things either,” she said.

“Miscommunication really didn’t work for us,” Ben said, jaw clenched.

“No,” she agreed, “no it did not.”

“So it’s honesty from now on,” he concluded with a nod. “Even when it’s hard. Especially then.”

“I believe that’s the right path forward.”

They smiled and Rey felt like she saw the shadow of the crooked, goofy grin she loved so much on his face.

The clock on the oven brightly declared it was after midnight.

“Well now it’s really late and the weather is bad…” she started.

“It isn’t safe to leave in this mess,” he said. “By the time you even get to the station and get on a train…I don’t feel right, sending you out in that. Just—Text Rose and tell her you’ll stay here.”

“Okay,” Rey said.

He muttered something about staying on the couch, that he’d grab a pillow and a blanket. But she took his hand and dragged him into the bedroom. There was her painting. Hanging proudly. The purples and greens looked lovely with the dark wooden furniture and white bedding. It looked as if it had always been there. Like perhaps that’s where it belonged.

In his dresser she rummaged for a t-shirt, selecting one of his oldest and softest, then padded to the bathroom and shut the door. Her toothbrush was still in its case in the medicine cabinet. She washed her face with his expensive cleanser and moisturized. Combed through her hair with her fingers. When she was done she folded her clothes and tucked them under her arm.

“Your turn, then,” she said to Ben. He sidestepped her and shut the door. She stuck her clothes on top of dresser, then she stretched out on the bed, slipping under the covers. And she waited.

The bathroom door clicked open. He ran his hand over the folded t-shirt on his dresser, resting atop her jeans. Then he put his own clothes in the hamper. Flicked the light switch. Carefully climbed into bed so that he didn’t jostle the mattress. They lay side by side without touching, taking quiet breaths and listening to the hum of the city outside, quieter than it would have been because of the snow.

“Ben?”

He waited a moment before responding. “Yeah?”

“Do you think…Could you…”

“Are you cold? I can turn the heat up—“

“Could you just hold me?”

She waited for him to answer. To tell her no. But instead she felt his arms wrap over and under her, pulling her body against his. It was so familiar, being there in his embrace. For a few minutes she listened to the soft street sounds below, where trucks would be working to clear the streets of snow. She brushed her thumb across his forearm. Counting the marks on his skin. Breathed in the smell of him. Listened to the echo from somewhere no longer at the back of her mind, tucked away, but right in the front saying _home_. This time she didn’t close the box. This time, she held him closer.

His breath in her hair whispered, “I missed you.”

As she turned her head over her shoulder to face him, she knew that even though forgiveness was a long road it was one worth taking. There would always be reasons to be afraid. To run. To fight. But there would be reasons to feel safe, too. To feel comfortable staying still. To not be alone.

She reached out to hold his face in her hand. Touching his cheek. Memorizing the vulnerability in his eyes. Then she pressed her lips to his softly. The place she’d always wanted to be.

His hand trailed her ribs, grazing the skin beneath her shirt with his knuckles while returning the kiss. It almost felt like their first kiss, tentative and sweet. She tugged the hair behind his ear and kissed him deeper, nipping at his lower lip until he chased her with his tongue.

When she sat up he followed, curious. With one hand she took off her shirt and tossed it. Then she reached to help remove his. They stayed at arm’s length, admiring each other for a moment with shy smiles and hooded glances. She knew the sprinkled patterns of the moles across his chest like he knew the scar on her hip from climbing a tree in Bethnal Green. The brush of freckles on her shoulders. That she was ticklish under her knees.

The slow kisses and exploration was tender, with all the fragility of something newborn. They whispered to each other in the dark. Hold me. Kiss me. Touch me there. Ben helped her remove her underwear and took off his own, pulling her onto his lap. One hand cupped around the back of her neck and the other flattened at the base of her spine to guide her. Their chests pressed together, as if they both wanted to be as close as possible. With nothing left between them. The gentle rocking of their hips was accompanied by soft gasps and slow moans. She moved against him with her arms around his neck, reaching one hand behind him for the headboard to steady herself.

They built each other up, in sync with their movements, as if they’d done this dance before — because they had. They had understood each other on a physical level before, and were building to a place of emotional stability before it was shattered. But now, as she pulled back to look into his eyes, at the hints of green glowing in the dim light, those pieces started to fit back together and repair themselves. He whispered her name, _Rey_ , and the wooden box sent out a tether, leading its contents to the light within.

She gasped, _Ben_ , and they neatly collected themselves, making room for the new things, like a letter written on crisp stationary in elegant blue ink. And for the first time in months the only sounds that echoed were their names on each other’s lips. Their pleasure, singing between them.

Afterwards, while they lay together, Rey felt safe. And warm. And loved.

She felt like she was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting and kudos-ing! I really can't believe there's only a few chapters left. 
> 
> A couple canon notes...
> 
> [Chandrila](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Chandrila) is the planet where Ben Solo was born and is the capital of the New Republic.
> 
> [ Phasma](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Phasma) is played by known queen Gwendoline Christie in _TFA_ and _TLJ_. A little cheeky moment in chapter 4 was technically her first appearance in this fic :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Ben run into an unfriendly face and later attend Finn and Poe's rehearsal dinner.

Rey and Ben spent the first few quiet weeks of March getting to know each other again. Long, late nights talking in hushed tones under crumpled sheets. Early mornings having coffee in the kitchen, clad only in t-shirts and morning-after glow. A weekend alone at his parents’ cabin where they pointedly did _not_ use the guest room and took a very cold motorcycle ride into town for lunch. Dinner with just Rose, as she requested, who took to their newfound honesty with a warm pride and an inquisition. Drinks with Finn and Poe, who performed the protective brother act with panache before establishing their own banter with Ben after too much bourbon. A day at the Met with Han and Leia, explaining the difference between surrealism and cubism, to which Han loudly proclaimed, “At least your art makes sense, kid.” Right in front of her favorite Joan Miró. It was one of the best trips to a museum she could remember having.

Things had been different this time. As if the fragile cracks that existed within what they’d had before were filled in by something stronger.

On a brisk Sunday morning they had been enjoying a leisurely brunch in Midtown. Normally Rey hated the endless crowds and novelty of this part of the city but she was hardly one to pass up French toast and a mimosa. Han was starring in a production of _Long Day’s Journey Into Night_ , and they had discrete tickets for the matinee. Ben told her that he and his mother typically attended Sunday matinees because they were less likely to be noticed. It was still in previews, but thus far had rave reviews for Han’s performance. Ben and Leia both hoped this recent success would steer him away from an ill-advised sequel to the action films of his glory days.

While Rey overindulged in pure maple syrup, they talked about everything and nothing. Settling into the easy chatter that was as calming as a cup of tea on a rainy day. The conversation turned to the arts collective that Ben was eager to get off the ground, as it often did. Lately everything was about getting the space set up and ready to use now that the construction work was finished. Much to Chewie’s relief.

“The office furniture will start arriving this week,” Ben said. He’d ordered a Florentine omelet and black coffee. Simple and practical. Healthy. Rey had a side of bacon, breakfast potatoes, and a cup of hot chocolate to go along with her meal. They had half the menu between them. “I could use your expert opinion on the quality,” he said.

“I’m sure whatever Mitaka’s ordered is at the very least adequate. He’s a capable minion. And it’s your office, you should be the one to decide if it suits you.”

“Oh aesthetically it suits me but your skills are required to ensure that it’s structurally sound.”

Rey smirked at him above her glass. “Are you implying that I let you ravish me on your desk before the paint is even dry on the walls?”

“Smart girl,” he said. “How’s Tuesday for you? Around lunchtime?”

“Hmmm I will need to check my extremely busy schedule. I am in demand, you know. I’ll have my people get back to you eventually.”

“I assure you, I am very amenable to your needs. I can remind you of my own skills later, if necessary. I think you’ll find them worth rearranging your days for.”

They were lost in their own bliss, unaware of the midday light from the high windows or the dark shadow that stood beside their table, obscuring it.

“Hello, Benjamin,” a deep, slightly raspy voice said. Edmund Snoke, clad in a fine copper-colored suit and accompanied by a simpering man Rey had never seen. Probably some poor assistant who was underpaid and overworked. He continued.“Ah, Miss Johnson. The little artist. I’ve admired your work but we haven’t had the pleasure—“

“Nor will you,” Ben said, narrowing his eyes and straightening his spine. “As you can see, Ted, I’m on my own time right now. I’ll see you in the morning at the office.”

The man _tsk_ ed. “Your rudeness is not something I would recommend holding onto, you know.”

“Thank you for the advice, sir. I’ll take it into consideration in the future.”

Snoke chuckled, and it sounded wrong — there was something off in the melody. Like the notes were played at the wrong tempo. “Enjoy your meal, Rey. I look forward to seeing more of you in the future.”

She straightened, settling her face into cool indifference without taking her eyes off of his cruel face. The napkin in her lap twisted, a coiled snake beneath her hands. The air itself seemed to crackle in his wake and she refused to let it cow her.

“Don’t forget to tell that lawyer of yours about my generous offer to end this nonsense. My patience for this ridiculous endeavor is not infinite.”

With that he strode away, Italian leather shoes clicking on the tile floor. When at last he’d crossed the threshold and climbed into a sleek silver Tesla, Ben reached over to touch her shoulder, jolting her from her thoughts. Most of which were more violent than she normally thought she was capable of.

“You okay?”

Rey nodded, shaking the imagine of a bisected Snoke from her brain. “Hux better get you out of there soon. Has anything new happened?”

“The firm’s always under some sort of investigation but the last few months have felt…different. I haven’t seen Palpatine at the office in at least six months. He’s mostly retreated to their villa on Lake Cuomo, apparently. That’s rarely a good sign. He likes to keep a close eye on things.”

She considered him for a moment. “How has it been different?”

“Well, for one thing I feel like I’m on one of those true crime documentaries. Always talking to the feds and feeding information where I can. ”

“Mmm you’re like an undercover agent. I wonder who would play you in the movie—“

“No one’s playing me in any movie if I can help it,” he sighed, “I’m cooperating but it’s still risky. My contact, Kenobi, says he’s going to maintain my anonymity if things escalate.”

She knew how much he worried about his identity getting out — if only because it would mean his family’s name being dragged through the press. They spoke of it often, at night when the rest of the world had quieted down and they shared their hopes and fears.

“Your parents support you, Ben. And so do I.” She reached across the table for his hand.

“It feels different because I think they’re scared this time. Snoke’s mostly left me alone. Part of that’s probably the contract dispute but,” he sighed again, the kind of tired that bloomed without warning. “Whatever. I don’t want to get my hopes up too much. If I do I’ll never be rid of him.”

He pulled a few bills from his wallet and stood, easing his chair back in and shrugging his coat on. “C’mon,” he said. “We should head to the theatre while it’s still early. I know how much you hate trying to walk down 7th on the weekend.”

She slipped her hand in his, and they faced the crowded streets together.

* * *

The rehearsal dinner for Finn Storm and Poe Dameron took place at Naboo, a small but trendy farm to table restaurant in Chelsea in late April. It was colorful and intimate — lush green ferns hung from the corners of the ceiling and there was a wall of succulents behind the tables. A rustic wooden structure with the colorful gem-like plants dotting the slats. Low, warm golden lighting flattered not only the small group in attendance but the table settings, too.

Though there was no wedding party, Rey and Rose acted as psuedo-maidens of (dis)honor for the two grooms. The last month had been busy for both of them, from coordinating with the florist — a friend from Rey’s old Takodana Botanicals gig, finalizing menus with the caterers, and working with the incredibly limited schedule that Finn’s tailor kept, where Rey had rushed to pick up Finn’s suit the day before, dropping it off at his apartment in East Harlem in a whirl of sweat and rush-hour stress. Rose had baked the cake, a bit ambitious at three tiers with three separate flavors of cake and fillings, which took up their entire fridge. She’d finish decorating it early the next morning before the ceremony.

Tonight they could relax at least a little bit, enjoying the gin, lemon, and rosemary signature cocktail that Poe selected for the evening while waiting for dinner to be served. Rey chose a sparkling minidress for the occasion, a kaleidoscope of sequins against a black background. It was like the bright starscapes she’d been painting for the last few weeks. Kaydel said they were joyful and conveyed the promise of something greater, out in the universe.

And there was something greater for Rey. She now featured in five galleries in Manhattan alone. A few of her paintings remained abroad. The Longworth Gallery had commissioned her for an autumn exhibition. Things were settling into a colorful future for her.

Ben stroked his knuckles along her ribs and she leaned against him while they talked with Poe’s parents about their latest charitable endeavors. Finn and Poe had been suspiciously absent for at least ten minutes, and Rey knew it was best to keep the Damerons occupied in these situations. Rose was gathering everyone to their seats, otherwise she would have helped. They loved Rose. It was easy to love Rose. Thankfully, Ben’s family history was help enough — he and Mr. Dameron were exchanging stories from twenty years ago, with the occasional interjection from Mrs. Dameron to correct the details and chide them. While they all took their seats Rey spied the men of the hour attempting to casually rejoin the group. Finn sat to her right, with a flushed Poe on his other side. He gulped down half of his water glass and scooted his chair in. Rey grinned and shook her head. It was like nothing had changed.

They were served small salads, mixed greens and tomatoes and a lemon vinaigrette. Freshly baked rolls with herb butter that Rey salivated over. It was the kind of meal that she would think about long after it was over, and not just because of the food.

“The buttons on your shirt,” Rey murmured, taking a sip of her drink.

“Hmm?” Finn said, glancing down. With a quick clearing of his throat he set about fixing them and straightening the collar of the pink shirt beneath his burgundy suit jacket.

“And you might want to tell your future husband to put a little ointment on that mark on his neck so it’s not as noticeable in photos tomorrow. Is that a curling iron burn? Those are the worst. I just _hate_ when that happens. It’s always right before something important and your hand just slips—”

“Alright, alright. I get it. You’re hilarious.” Finn grumbled. As he picked up his fork, mid-bite, he looked back at her. His brown eyes wide. “Do you think anyone else knows?”

She chuckled, reaching for Ben’s hand on her other side. Their fingers lacing without looking. “Yes, but I don’t think anyone can begrudge either of you for a quick round in the loo. I’m sure it’s quite nice in there. Good lighting and probably tasteful decor. Was there a candle lit? Because that would have added an element of danger and I think that—“

“Eat your vegetables, Johnson,” Finn said with finality before shifting his attention back to Poe.

Ben leaned over to whisper, lips grazing her ear, “Bit unfair of you to tease him, Freckles. Especially considering just last week when someone pulled me into a coatroom at—“

She silenced him with a glare before warming into a smile when he started to chuckle. With a quick press she released his hand to focus on her food and the story Poe’s mother was sharing.

Above the soft murmurs of conversation at the table a very frazzled looking Armitage Hux burst into the room, breathing more heavily than Rey had ever seen. His ginger hair sticking up to one side and his tie crooked beneath his open khaki trench coat. Burberry, no doubt. Though his eyes first went to Rose, lighting their pale color with fondness, he closed them to catch his breath for a beat.

Rose pushed her chair back to go to him and they had a low, whispered conversation before he sat at the table, drinking his entire glass of water and hers, then finishing her cocktail. Sputtering a cough as the liquor burned his throat.

He swallowed and apologized for being late. Once the rest of the table resumed their chatter, he settled his gaze on Ben. “They arrested him.”

There was no need to clarify who he meant. Ben gripped her hand again, tight enough that she gripped tightly back until he loosened his hold.

“On what grounds?”

Hux pulled out his phone, flashing the various headlines at them. Ben scanned an article and Rey read over his shoulder, scrolling past the paparazzi shot of him in handcuffs outside of an austere, Upper East Side brownstone.

> _Edmund Snoke, 72, has been charged with multiple counts of fraud, embezzlement, and extortion after a lengthy federal investigation. Such charges could put the infamous financier behind bars for decades. Sources say Snoke’s husband, Sheev Palpatine, 81, is expected to turn himself over on similar charges. The billionaire founders of Snalps Ventures have seen their share of scandal during their forty-five years in business. In 1983 Palpatine admitted to…_

“But what does this mean for you? They don’t think you were involved—“

Hux cut her off. “I just left a meeting with the agent. Ben’s assists have been frozen as a precaution but because he’s cooperated with the investigation we, that is Ms. Phasma and myself, believe that it will be temporary.” He turned his attention back to Ben. “If anything, the fact that your contract was fraudulent will only help expedite things on our end. Should you wish to, we could sue for additional damages—“

“No, Hux. I just want it all to be over. As quietly as possible.”

Rey brushed her thumb across his knuckles and he turned to press a kiss against her temple.

“They’re both old as shit, maybe they’ll plead guilty and move things along quicker.” Rey said.

“Well, seeing as they’re likely facing decades of incarceration they’ll surely do everything they can to speed things up.” Hux supplied. “I’m sure we’ll start seeing them portrayed as sweet old men who don’t deserve harsh sentences in their advanced age.”

They all grimly finished their microgreen salads while discussing the various ways they hoped Snalps Ventures would burn. Rose with the most graphic detail. Rey with the most linguistic embellishments. Ben spent the better part of the evening emailing Mitaka under the table and excusing himself to answer calls. Apparently the office was already under federal control, all of its contents seized as evidence.

Rey asked their server to leave Ben’s plate for him and to bring out a few extra rolls. He wouldn’t eat them but she could nervously pick at them while she waited for him to come back. She could just see his outline on the sidewalk, phone held to his ear and the other hand on his hip. Somehow embodying both his father and mother in a single, agitated pose.

When their dinner of roasted squashes with farro and goat’s cheese was over, Rose gave a brief toast to Finn and Poe while dessert was served.

“For as long as I’ve had the honor to know them,” Rose began, smiling. “Finn and Poe have radiated a kind of love whose warmth lights anyone near its rays. They’re both passionate about helping children. They support each other and anyone in their orbit. They’re a little bit sickening in how cute they are and they’re terrible at hiding any displays of affection—“

“That is not true,” Poe interjected. “We are very subtle!”

“Tell that to the mark on your neck, Dameron,” Rey said, effectively shutting him up.

“Anyway,” Rose called the attention back to her. “We are lucky to not only witness your love but to be part of your story. I speak for everyone here when I say that we are your family, and there’s not greater joy than watching your family grow.”

She raised her glass a little bit higher, full cheeks blushing as she briefly locked eyes with Armitage. Ben slipped back into his seat, squeezing Rey’s knee under the table.

“To Finn and Poe!” Rose cheered, and the rest of them echoed her.

While drinks were sipped Rey whispered to Ben, “Everything okay?”

He nodded, draining his glass. “For now.”

Ben was quieter for the rest of the evening, smiling when expected and contributing when necessary. But the lines of his shoulders were tense, and he kept one hand close to her at all times. Resting on her knee or the small of her back. Tracing her knuckles with the featherlight touch of a forefinger. His thigh pressed against her leg. The edge of his shoe aligned with hers.

They rode back to his place in companionable silence, breaking it only to comment on the food a few times. What a lovely raspberry tart and what delicious chocolate macarons. Rey could tell there was something on his mind. Several somethings. But that he wanted to wait until they reached his apartment to tell her what it was. Thankfully it was a short ride.

When they arrived at his place she poured a glass of water and organized her things for the morning, double checking that she didn’t forget anything important, like waterproof mascara. Both of their wedding outfits hung neatly in his closet. Wrinkle-free in their garment bags.

“Okay I’m ready to talk about it,” Ben said, crossing his bedroom to sit on the edge of the bed.

Rey stopped her nervous fussing and sat next to him, angling herself so that she could face him fully.

“Go on then,” she said.

“He was arrested. Actually arrested. In handcuffs arrested.”

“Yes.”

“But he’s probably out on bail regardless of how much it was.”

“Well he’s a bloody billionaire and he’s an old white man so yes, the system is designed to work in his favor.”

Ben breathed for a moment, which Rey knew meant he was gathering his thoughts.“I know I should feel relieved. And in a way I do.” He paused. “But I’m just…I’m terrified that my name will get out somehow. Snoke’s not beneath vengeance. Or someone could let it slip somehow—”

“And who’s the biggest risk for that?”

“I don’t know…I trust Mitaka. And Hux and Phasma provide attorney client privilege even if I didn’t trust them. Kenobi seems like a man who puts honor above everything else. That’s really everyone, I suppose. Snoke’s various assistants are likely trying to avoid charges of their own. Obstruction of justice or whatever.” He thumbed the edge of the t-shirt she’d thrown on, the backs of his fingers lightly grazing her thighs beneath it.

“Well that doesn’t seem too bad,” she said, brushing his hair back to rest her palm on his cheek, letting her fingers graze his ears. “The retaliation part isn’t great but I don’t think you have to worry about the others. You said you trust them.”

“I do.”

“You’re doing the right thing, Ben. Snoke’s contract had you captive for years and now you’re almost free of him. If you have to do everything you can to help put him away for good, won’t that be worth it?”

Ben nodded, leaning into her touch. “I just don’t want my mistakes to hurt my parents any more than they already have. I lost years to this job.”

Rey pulled him closer, tucking his shoulder under her chin. “Have you talked to them about it?”

“They’re both pretty ambivalent, to be honest. Mom’s focused on finishing up her latest memoir and Dad has the play. They think it’ll blow over if it happens. They think there’s always a new scandal for the media to hop onto that will make them yesterday’s news once again.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth and contorted his lips in quiet contemplation.

“What if it doesn’t blow over?” He said softly, wrapping an arm around her.

“If it doesn’t then we’ll figure it out. The path isn’t always clear, right? But we’ll find a way.”

Ben traced patterns along her back and she followed his eyes to her painting, hanging on the wall across from them. Above his dresser, which was currently littered with the contents of her makeup bag. The dress from tonight was draped over the chair in the corner. Her toothbrush in the bathroom. A sketchbook and pencil on the coffee table. Little bits of her scattered throughout the apartment like the soil spilling across the canvas. The purples of the echeveria brightening the space.

Ben hauled her into his arms and laid her down across the bed, drawing a slow line from her neck across her shoulders and down her arm to hold her hand. She tilted her face up to kiss him lightly.

“It’ll be okay, Ben.”

He cradled her jaw, absently running his thumb across the edge of her lip.

“I know it will. I have you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The painting that Han was confused by in the opening paragraph is called [The Potato](https://www.joan-miro.net/the-potato.jsp). 
> 
> _Long Day’s Journey Into Night_ is a [brilliant play](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Long_Day%27s_Journey_into_Night) by Eugene O’Neill that is extremely depressing. I would personally love to see Harrison Ford take on a role like the father in this play.
> 
> I think [Obi-Wan Kenobi](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Obi-Wan_Kenobi) would make a great FBI agent. 
> 
> Is it really a Reylo fic if no one [redacted] on/in [Naboo](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Naboo)?
> 
> Rey is wearing the “I got this for $50 at Val’s” version of this [look](http://luxurypictures.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Zuhair-Murad-Haute-Couture-FW-2016-Galactic-crystal-embellished-dress-with-a-meteor-black-silk-crepe-back.jpg). I really love this collection and Rey's look for the wedding is also inspired by one of the looks from Zuhair Murad Haute Couture Fall/Winter 2016, if you're into fashion :)
> 
> Regarding Snoke's arrest: I read a lot of wikipedia pages for disgraced moguls but I don’t claim to understand a ton about the business/finance world so please suspend some disbelief about the legalities here! 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Hard to believe we're almost at the end. 
> 
> P.S. -- I'm working on a little something new that will start posting soon 🖤✨


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn and Poe's wedding is here and Ben shows Rey his new venture.

Finn and Poe were never going to have an ostentatious wedding, and it was never going to have a mile-long guest list. Instead they chose to reserve an intimate, historic venue in Brooklyn — Cantham House. The ceremony took place on the rooftop garden. It was short and sweet, beautiful against the Manhattan skyline behind them, and officiated by an old Dameron family friend.

They’d hired a band for the reception and had the meal catered by a Guatemalan restaurant Poe was fond of. There was a cocktail hour with petite bites of food before they sat down for dinner. On a small, round table sat Rose’s beautiful cake — buttercream peonies and green leaves cascading from the top tiers all the way around to the base.

Everything was decorated in shades of green with little pops of peach and apricot and periwinkle, like Rey’s attire.

Val had hunted it down for her when Rey told her what color she was supposed to wear to the wedding. It was an icy blue jumpsuit with slim pants and an embellished top. But her favorite part was the attached cape that draped over her shoulders. She’d wrangled her hair into a sleek French twist secured with silver star pins. The shimmery heels were her least favorite, but they did put her at a little bit of a height advantage. And Ben seemed to like them.

To Rey, he’d never looked more handsome, in a suit that wasn’t black for once. Instead he wore smooth navy with a pale blue shirt, so light it was almost white. No tie. As usual his hair waved to his collar, artfully tousled and touchable. They shared a table with his parents, Rose, and Armitage.

Rose was stunning in her gauzy peach dress, complimenting her date’s tie paired with his hunter green suit. Like a flower from her cake come to life. Finn and Poe committed to an aesthetic and Rey was impressed. Everything would photograph well, and the grooms themselves looked like a Vogue cover. They had their own little table and their own little world, forever.

“I can’t believe you made this cake,” Han said to Rose between bites. “I’ve eaten a lot of cakes over the years, kid, and none of them come close.”

“He’s right, you know. Between forty years of weddings and awards seasons, there have been several mediocre desserts. All of which he devours without complaint,” Leia added.

Ben smiled and pushed a buttercream flower onto Rey’s plate.

“I’m not one to make a fuss,” Han replied, to which his wife laughed.

“No but you will ask for seconds and thirds, right?” Rey said.

Han pointed to her plate, with its additional frosting. “You’re one to talk.”

“Rose, don’t be alarmed if there’s a knock on your door tomorrow demanding more cake.” Rey said.

“I wouldn’t arrive unannounced—“

“Dad, she meant herself.” Ben said

“You talk as if I’ll even be home to answer the door,” Rose said, taking a dainty sip of her drink and smiling demurely while Hux coughed on his bite of food.

“Alright there, dear? You look a little pink,” Leia said, pushing his water glass towards him.

When they’d finished their plates — seconds for some of them, Rey included — they mingled throughout the reception, alternating between conversations with the Organa-Solos and the Damerons and quieter moments with Rose and Hux.

Now, though, her best friend was locked in a slow spin around the makeshift dance floor. Her big brown eyes beaming up at her boyfriend. Finn and Poe were entwined nearby, finally husbands and practically glowing.

The four-piece band thumbed their instruments in a beautiful melody. As the song crested towards a finish, Ben turned to her. “May I have the next dance?”

Rey smiled, thinking of all the nights she and Rose had drunkenly said that to each other while watching a romantic period drama. And as such she knew how to reply.

“You may,” she said, half a smirk on her pink lips.

One of Ben’s large hands splayed across the small of her back and the other cradled her hand against his chest while they slowly side-stepped together. From the corner of her eye Rey saw Leia steal a picture on her phone.

“Let me guess,” Rey said, looking up at him, “your governess taught you several different dances for formal occasions.”

“Obviously,” he replied dryly, resisting a roll of his eyes.

“I’m surprised a man of your size is so light on his feet.”

“Well, my — what was it? _Governess_ , was very strict. And you’re stepping on my toes, Johnson.”

With a sharp glance down she saw that she was _not_ doing that and he laughed, guiding her closer so that she looped her arms around his neck. Pulling her fingers through his hair. He pressed a kiss to her temple. They twirled together and Rey found that she couldn’t decide which she liked more, having an entire silent conversation with Ben, just through their eyes, or watching her friends.

Rose and Hux, despite their size difference, moved gracefully together. Finn and Poe were laughing, leaning into each other. Content in the love and joy that fizzed throughout the room like bubbles in a champagne glass.

The deep hum of the cello and the sweet lilt of the violins bathed the room. On a few more modern songs, one of the violinists swapped their instrument for an acoustic guitar. Drumming on its wooden body and stomping on the floor to create percussive sounds. Some of the crowd who weren’t dancing clapped along.

“Mind if I cut in?” Finn said, interrupting her thoughts.

“Oh of course, but Finn I must warn you he’s a terrible dancer—“

Ben scoffed. “Says the the embodiment of two left feet.” He spun her out of his grip and into Finn’s.

“C’mon, Solo, I’ve got a old bottle of scotch with our names on it,” Poe said, clapping the taller man on the shoulder.

Finn twirled her around. “Gotta say, you really brought the sparkle tonight.”

“And you brought the dapper, as expected. Though I did get a sneak preview,” Rey gestured to his bespoke suit, embroidered lapels and jaunty pocket square included.

“No one I’d rather have beside me to celebrate than you, you know.” He said, somber for a change. “Couldn’t have made all this happen without the artist’s touch.”

Rey laughed. “I just made calls and picked up your suit.”

“And between you and Rose you made this whole affair come together. I swear I’ll be dreaming of that cake for at least a year. Do you think Rosie would make it for my birthday?”

After a few turns about the room, the band took a break and Finn went back to his husband. Ben had stopped to speak with his father at the bar. The two Solo men smiling at each other over glasses of scotch and laughing with the flamboyant officiant, Lando Calrissian.

Rey slipped her arm into Rose’s and rested her cheek atop her head for a moment, fondly.

“Do you ever think about how lucky we are to cross paths with people when we do?” Rose asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes I wonder if I’d never run into you the first day of school. Or,” she blushed a little, “if I hadn’t met a cute lawyer in the elevator and talked to him for hours. Would we have met another way?”

Rey contemplated for a moment. She couldn’t really picture a world without any of them in it.

“Would we have met Finn somewhere else if we had stayed out ten minutes later and we missed the last bus back to campus? And the night you met Ben, that was a kind of serendipity.”

“Rosie, you’re getting very philosophical and you know I can’t follow this kind of talk when I have a stomach full of cake and cocktails.”

She laughed. “I’m just feeling sentimental. All the love in the air, I think.”

Rey squeezed her shoulder. “I know what you mean,” she said, casting her eyes throughout the room. To Finn, who wore a smile easily and never hesitated to support the people he cared about. To Poe, with his endless devotion and charm. To Hux, who Rey had come to admire for his tenacity after all he’d done to help Ben and his tenderness with Rose. To her best friend beside her, who saw a scared and lonely girl at a college bookstore and took her for a slice of pizza, just because she wanted to. Who let her be her messiest self, let her cry in her arms and shout and laugh and just be Rey. Without ever wavering. While she hugged Rose against her side, her fearsome, funny, lovely Rose, she found the last set of eyes she was looking for.

Warm brown with flecks of green. Often serious. Sometimes sad. But always searching for hers across a room. Across the stars.

And when they found each other, she didn’t look away.

* * *

June went from warm to sweltering without much time to adjust. Without air conditioning in the apartment, Rose was never home and neither was Rey. Their lease was up in a couple months and they had a lot to figure out for the future. But for now, Rey was happy to escape her sweaty apartment for Ben’s central air.

They’d stopped by Rey’s apartment so that she could change out of her painting clothes after a long day at the studio. She pulled some clothes from her dresser and closet and tossed them on the bed. Ben folded them neatly and packed them in her duffle. She already had a number of things at his place.

“You’re working the early shift tomorrow, yeah?” He asked.

“Mmhmm, promised Maz I’d help train the new bartender. Should be a slow day, might be a beer in it for you if you want to come keep me company.”

“I would, but I was wondering if you’d like to come and see the space. They finished all the electrical work yesterday so there’s no more wires everywhere, and Mitaka said it’s no longer, quote, ‘a dust-covered war zone.’”

“Is this an invitation to test the structural soundness of the furniture?” Rey wondered aloud.

Ben chuckled, “Not specifically, but we could make time for that, too. I want you to see it now that everything’s livable. Tell me what you think.”

When she’d changed into an old pair of shorts and a t-shirt they headed back to Manhattan together.

The next day she arrived at the Resistance a little bit early, laden down with pastries for everyone. She had already eaten a croissant and was contemplating a second by the time she reached Maz’s office. The older woman was hunched over her desk. The thick glasses on her nose had slipped to the end and she pushed them up with a sigh.

“I’ve got a chocolate one in here for you,” Rey said, presenting the box. Maz stretched her short arms behind her, grazing the photo-covered wall with her hands.

“A perfect treat for today.” Her smiled reached her ears.

“What’s happened?”

“Our numbers are up almost twenty percent from last year.”

Rey smacked a hand over her heart. “What? That’s brilliant!”

“It turns out that Mitaka fellow’s advice was worthwhile. I’m glad your Ben hired him. Means I can pop next-door to bother him whenever I wish.”

“I’m going to inspect the offices later. I’ll make sure I get you a map to his exact location.”

“There’s a good girl,” Maz said. “The new recruit, Elle, will be here in an hour. She’s got a lot of experience so just get her familiar with the menu and make sure the boys downstairs aren’t too shocked to see a new face.”

That would be a challenge, Rey thought. But Maz was right. Elle took to the bar quickly, and Rey knew that Maz would be in good hands with her and Paige taking over most of Rey’s shifts. She’d needed more time and space to paint lately, so she reluctantly lightened her schedule down to one or two shifts a week. On top of that, she wanted to spend time next-door with Ben. Maybe teach a painting class or else make herself available to any students who needed someone safe to talk to.

Ben greeted her five minutes before her shift ended, taking the few moments to say hello to Chewie, who was heading out himself. They’d see him next weekend for family dinner at the Organa-Solo’s townhouse in the West Village.

It was miserably hot and humid, the hazy shimmer on the air above the asphalt reminded Rey of summers in Arizona, blistering in the sun while working on cars at Plutt’s shop. There was always that visible haze of heat there, but here in New York it was more rare. Only on the hottest of hot days. She could feel the sweat begin to form within the ten seconds she had been outside since leaving the Resistance.

“There’s air con, right?” She asked Ben as he unlocked the door. 

The first floor was a gallery space, ready to display student work, he explained. Throughout the tour he spoke animatedly of what he pictured. They climbed the stairs to the second floor studio space, with its large, repurposed wooden tables — Chewie and Han salvaged them from somewhere upstate and refinished them — there was also a scattering of easels, shelves of paper, containers of paints, stacks of canvases, cups of pencils, and pens, and so many other art supplies. It was a young creative’s dream. The bright light from the front of the building would provide excellent conditions for most of the day. The third floor had smaller, soundproof rooms for musicians, one of which contained an old upright piano that Leia had in the dining room at the house.

“I haven’t played in years. It’s a glorified plant stand at this point.” She’d said when she gave it to Ben. It took a special paino moving company to get it out of the townhouse, downtown, and up the narrow stairs to the third floor where it settled. Ben needed to bring in a tuner before it would be ready to play. There was also a lounge area by the windows and a quiet reading room at the back.

The fourth floor was where the offices were — a large, open co-working space for Ben, Mitaka, and whomever else they hired in the future, with one small meeting room if one needed privacy.

On the east wall a collage of paintings greeted them. There were two of plants in terra-cotta pots, their bright leaves reaching out from overturned soil. One, a spiky golden barrel cactus, deep green with yellow needles. The other was a peachy kalanchoe, with bright yellow at the base of its orange leaves. They complimented one another, and the two starscapes that completed the collection. The first was a small moon, one of the first space scenes she’d painted, with more orange and gold tones highlighting the green of its surface. The last was of the butterfly nebula, with its pink and orange wings. She’d used a little bit of blue to highlight and create the stars around it.

“I just got the butterfly back from the Longworth Gallery yesterday,” Ben said. “Had to hang it up before I could bring you in. Needed everything to be perfect.”

Rey looked around at the comfortable but practical furniture and the soft light filtering in from the skylight. It was a warm space. Inviting.

“It’s incredible, Ben.” She gave him a quick kiss and started poking around in the open boxes that dotted the room. Office supplies and books, mainly. “If I had a place like this as a teenager, not just the art room at school, I would have never left it. It feels so safe and welcoming.”

The little sliver of ear, the piece of him that was so rarely seen but she loved so much, turned pink. “That’s what I was hoping we’d achieve. Mom’s helped a lot, and Dameron’s been by a few times, too. Keeps trying to convince me to go back to school—”

“What? But you’re far too old—” Ben glared at her. “I mean, back to school for what?”

“A graduate degree in social work. I’ll think about it, but I’ll probably be too busy for a while while we get things off the ground. I’m thinking about hiring a counselor eventually. ”

Rey assessed the light, and started to map out where different plants could go. Perhaps a palm in the back corner, where it wouldn’t scorch. A few hanging baskets for pothos. Some pots of Tradescantia zebrina. They would definitely want a few snake plants on the lower levels. Maybe some zz plants and other easy to care for varieties. It could be a sanctuary of green, in the heart of the East Village.

“Mom and I have been talking a lot about what to call it,” he said from his perch at the edge of the desk.

“Should probably get on it if you’re hoping to open soon,” she said, scrunching her nose before grinning at him. “What are you thinking?”

“We’ve spent so much time calling it the art collective and talking about what we hope it will do for the kids who find a place there. It kind of seemed obvious after so many months.” Ben chuckled, and rubbed his hand over his jaw. “We’re calling it the Hope Collective.”

“I think that’s perfect. Simple but memorable. Says what you’re trying to do right in the name.” Rey knew the perfect plant to get for Ben’s desk. For the first day they were open. A little peperomia hope. One of her favorites.

He crossed over to her, glancing around the space. “Do you know an artist I can commission to make the logo? It’ll be a lot of long hours talking to me about fonts.”

“Yes and you have many opinions on serifs.”

“I do. It will probably take a lot of private meetings to get everything right. I’m very meticulous.”

“I do so love your attention to detail.”

“We don’t have much of a budget but I thought the artist could have a seat on the board. Maybe a fancy title to add to her hand-painted business cards.”

Rey leaned her head against his arm. “I think I know someone who can help.”

“The family press rep has a release ready for next week. After a photographer comes in. It’s—Everything will be real after that.”

“You’ve worked hard to get everything ready, Ben. Now all you need is to fill the space with creative kids.”

He was contemplative for a moment, no doubt running through endless lists in his mind. From an open box he pulled out a coffee mug. It was clearly hand painted and very old. Great blobs of blue and red and purple paint, overlapping to create new muddy shades. A chip on the handle. It turned over and over in his large hands. A five-year old Ben’s signature on the bottom.

“I’m beginning to wonder if this was my brightest idea. Maybe I should have just worked for the Foundation for a few years. Instead of starting over with nothing.”

As they stood together in the center of the office, surrounded by her paintings and the promise of something good taking root here, Rey felt a familiar spark. The feeling of warmth that lit a cozy fire in her mind. The feeling she got from just being with him. A feeling she longed for.

She looked at Ben and smiled, reaching for his hand. “We have everything we need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finn and Poe’s wedding location is based on [this cool venue](http://merchantshouse.org/). And named for [Cantham House](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Cantham_House/Legends), which is where Han and Leia were married in Legends canon.
> 
> And the wedding is officiated by [Lando](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Landonis_Balthazar_Calrissian) because of this [tweet](https://twitter.com/binarey_/status/1304522986955763712?s=20). 
> 
> Rey’s [look](http://luxurypictures.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Zuhair-Murad-Haute-Couture-FW-2016-Fitted-jumpsuit-with-grey-silk-crepe-cape-sleeves-and-constellation-map-ornamentation.jpg) is this incredible jumpsuit.
> 
> Rose is in a lighter, less formal version of this [ultimate serve](https://www.redcarpet-fashionawards.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/12/Kelly-Marie-Tran-Wore-Phuong-My-To-The-%E2%80%98Star-Wars-The-Rise-Of-Skywalker%E2%80%99-London-Premiere.jpg).
> 
> Elle is named for my queen, [L3](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/L3-37). As you should know by now, I loved _Solo_ and Phoebe Waller-Bridge as a radical droid is one of the best parts.
> 
> Of course Rey painted [The Butterfly Nebula](https://www.nasa.gov/multimedia/imagegallery/image_feature_2526.html). And of course Ben bought it because he liked it.
> 
> Peperomia hope is one of my favorite plants, and I wrote a lot of this fic at my desk, with [my little peperomia](https://twitter.com/xDarkoftheMoon/status/1305201609597747200?s=20) beside me. She grew an entire new stem from when I started the fic to now, when it's ending. When I was editing this chapter and adding in some details about plants (because I cannot be stopped) it seemed a really fitting thing for this Rey to give to Ben. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! There's one chapter left, a bit of an epilogue. I really can't believe we've reached the end.
> 
> I've been working on something new, which I plan to start posting along with the final chapter of _After Hours_! A little bit of a preview for you 🖤✨
> 
>  _Death-marked Love_ is loosely based on this [prompt](https://twitter.com/galacticidiots/status/1281339060200579075?s=20) from [Fran](https://twitter.com/galacticidiots), aka Galactic Idiots on Twitter and [BensCalligraphySet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BensCalligraphySet/pseuds/BensCalligraphySet/works?fandom_id=101375) here on AO3. Someone put together a collection of all of her twitter prompts that have turned into fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/GalacticIdiotsCollection)! 
> 
> _Death-marked Love_ will be six chapters, and a dual POV (but not Ben 😏)! It's been fun to write and I'm excited to share it soon.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

The first autumn leaves turned amber at the end of September. Little patches of orange and gold on the London Plane trees that lined the streets of the East Village. The Thornless Honey Locust trees had already started to slip into their butter yellow coats, leaving little confetti pieces scattered on the pavement. It was the best time to be in the city.

Rey breathed the crisp air, happy to leave summer’s heat and the uncertainty of the Snalps Ventures trial behind. Snoke’s trial was ongoing, but he had seemed defeated in the few photos from the proceedings that had been released. New lines on his cruel face after months on house arrest, with dozens of protestors outside whenever he left for court. Rushed into a black SUV by a security team. In addition to the federal charges, several former clients had filed their own lawsuits. Rey hoped he liked prison — he would be there for the rest of his miserable life.

Ben had contributed a written statement for the prosecution but was otherwise finally free. His assets had been returned to him, and Snoke’s lawyers had settled their contract dispute quickly, paying him what he was owed and agreeing to a joint non-disclosure agreement. The only time Ben Solo’s name was in the media was for the press release for the Hope Collective, which had opened almost two months earlier. They had several notable patrons and donors in addition to the support of the Organa Foundation.

Asokha Tano had made a generous financial donation and loaned a small painting from her days as a student to be displayed in the first floor gallery. Chirrut Îmwe joined the board. Kaydel had offered her services as well, sharing the press release with her clients, many of whom made donations of their own. By the time they had officially opened the doors the space was full of art and financially stable.

There had been a lot of curious teens who came in and out, unsure or just taking their time to feel comfortable. But so far the five kids who came to the space every day seemed curious and excited. Grateful for the supplies and slowly opening up to everyone. Rey had led a painting class twice now, focusing on light and color theory. A few other artists from the studio had stopped by as well. Bodhi came to visit last month and had since come by a few times just to observe. And, he said, to mourn the loss of one of his most profitable artists.

Tomorrow Rey would take a dozen of her paintings to London, to the Longworth Gallery, for her first solo showing there. They’d rented a flat through the month of October, not far from the museums and galleries of West London. She hadn’t been there since she was a child, but she’d been counting the days. There was a costume exhibit at the Victoria and Albert she wanted to see and she’d never been to the Tate Modern. One of her favorite Asokha Tano installations would be there. And Kaydel had arranged a dinner for them to finally meet in person.

Their bags were packed and her paintings had been carefully wrapped and placed in wooden crates. They would arrive at the Longworth Gallery next week. It took her a while to put the collection together for the gallery. She wanted it to be indicative of who she was as an artist. The girl who painted desert plants, decaying but beautiful in their resilience. The starscapes and comets and nebula in all their grandeur. With a few in a newer style. Something she had been working on for the last few quiet months in between the larger scale paintings of stars and galaxies that had become her signature.

In her mind she called the series “touch” — the moments just before contact, rendered in thick oil paint with a warm, hazy glow around the skin. Shoulders side by side, brushing one another. Two hands, whispering just before they met, fingertips grazing. Lips, moments from being kissed, with the soft puff of breath hovering between them. She’d based them on moments she’d witnessed with her friends — Poe, leaning into Finn’s shoulder. Immovable dedication. Rose, reaching up to kiss Armitage. Tender and intimate. Ben’s hand, seconds before she took it. Something that still sparked beneath her skin whenever it happened.

She’d kept them to herself. A secret only Kaydel had seen as they packed them away. Rey wanted her friends to see them displayed in the gallery when her showing opened in two weeks. They had all jumped at the chance for a vacation and to go support her. Hux had relatives in Hertfordshire, and he wanted to introduce them to his new fiancé. Rose had never been to Europe and had already made a list of activities for everyone. Poe and Finn were busy with work but the exhibit happened to coincide with autumn break at Finn’s school. Han and Leia would be there, too. Leia’s latest memoir was set to release and her publisher organized a book launch near the studio where _Galaxy Wars_ was filmed 40 years ago. Han’s performance on Broadway had brought interest from the West End. They’d be busy with meetings and book signings but would be at the gallery opening night.

When she thought about them, her makeshift family, it was almost too much. Knowing that there were people who would show up just for her. Who loved her enough, with all of her hard edges. To cross an ocean for her.

And so she’d found herself in her last official shift at the Resistance. Flitting about the bar on a quiet Sunday afternoon. Finding joy in the smallest of tasks. From polishing the silver taps to turning the bottles so that all of the labels faced forward. Making small talk with the few customers who trickled in, talking about the weather and the autumn beers that would soon feature on the menu. Going over the orders with Chewie. Updating the menu board with some new little drawings of leaves and pinecones. Wiping the mahogany bar so it shone beneath the low lights. Everything was as it should be.

As the day progressed the crowd grew, and soon she was busy racing from one end of the bar to the other. Sloshing a porter and splashing her jeans. Chewie emerged from the kegs below to help, hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Beard as unruly as ever.

“How’s this for a last shift, kid?” He said. Rey laughed. It was just what she hoped for. The rush of pouring and snatching bills and shouting prices over the loud conversations. Just like any other night. She loved it.

“You know me, Chewie, if I’m standing still for too long—”

“A glass will break?”

She whipped her rag at him and he caught it, scrubbing a condensation ring from where someone neglected their coaster. They’d just gotten them in — Rey had designed the logo and now they had boxes and boxes of them downstairs. People couldn’t resist taking a coaster, Mitaka told Maz. And he was right.

As the evening sun hid behind the buildings, making way for cool twilight, Ben arrived in his leather jacket. She was about to pour him a Red Squadron when he took one look at the crowd and made his way to the ‘do not cross unless you’re staff’ line. And crossed it.

“Looks like you could use some help,” he said, hanging his coat up on the hook next to the door to the office. Chewie clapped him on the shoulder and went back downstairs to his domain.

“Still remember how to pour?” Rey asked as she brushed by him, collecting empties. She took a moment to squeeze his shoulder. To feel the warmth and muscle there.

In reply he simply took a new customer’s order, neatly pouring a stout with just the right amount of foam. They worked in tandem, coordinated and with a surety that extended from the way they moved around one another to the way that they anticipated the other’s needs. Passing glasses of water and empty pints and new coasters.

“Did Temiri come by to finish his painting?” Rey asked over the loud guitar riff on the speakers. She’d turned her music up when the crowd got louder. A special playlist of all her favorite songs.

Ben gathered a stack of empty glasses, stacked them deftly, and handed the full dish bin to Snap. “He did,” he said. A particularly needy customer waved her over for a refill on his cloudy IPA.

“How’d it turn out?”

“Well, he says it’s still not finished — kid spent at least two hours working on it today. Told me he wants to add in some more shadows and details before he shows you.”

Rey sighed. “What a little perfectionist. There’s no way I was that precious about my art at 14.”

Ben laughed. “No, you’re only that precious about it at 26. Won’t even _tell_ me about your latest works.”

“A dramatic reveal in London will be so much better for my ego,” she replied. “And you know I don’t like anyone looming over me while I work.”

“That’s exactly what Temiri said to me when I checked on him.”

“Chirrut and Baze said they’d stop in next week. I’ll make sure they know he’s shy,” Rey said, taking out her phone to write herself a quick reminder. Kaydel had also promised to drop by and help Mitaka. She and Jannah planned on winning over the kids with pizza and cookies. It would have worked for Rey.

Of all of the students and drop-ins they’d had, Temiri was the most committed. Often they’d have to nudge him out the door at the end of the day. Though he’d opened up to Rey and Ben a little, he was still guarded. Rey knew it would take time for trust to build. It was something she knew well. But they had a tentative bond and Rey emailed Rian for advice. He always knew what to do. In the meantime, she mentored when she could and gave Temiri space to create.

The crowd thinned and Rey cleared the bar top of the remnants of happy patrons in the form of water-logged coasters and dregs of beer left in glasses. They turned the music down and dimmed the lights slightly. It was getting late and Rey felt wistful. She’d spent five years here, with Maz and Chewie and Paige and Snap and DJ.

The Resistance closed at midnight on Sundays, and they hadn’t had a customer in about a half hour. Snap and DJ left early. She and Ben both drank a pint while they scrubbed and swept the space. Until it was gleaming. The stools were neatly arranged beneath the bar. The taps sparkled. The fridge was stocked. The glasses stacked in even towers. Everything was in its place.

Rey climbed the stairs to Maz’s office to drop the cash bag in the safe and to gather her things. Though it was warm behind the bar, the latenight chill would bite. She pulled a black sweater from her bag. It was too big for her, with frays on the edges of the sleeves and a large hole in the front. But it was soft and warm and smelled of sandalwood with the faint traces of campfire and pine from their last weekend at the cabin upstate. The hem fell past her hips and she had to cuff the sleeves a few times.

With one arm in her jacket and the other stretching behind her, she glanced around the office. Absorbing all of the faces and smiles on Maz’s walls before flipping the lights off. Counting the thirteen steps down.

She stood at the front of the space, one hand trailing over the wooden bar. Feeling the smooth surface and contemplating how many drinks she’d served. How many people she’d met. The night a tall, handsome stranger offered to help her.

“Are you ready?” Ben asked from the doorway.

“Just taking one last look,” she said. “Need to make sure my reputation as Maz’s best bartender stands.”

Maz wanted her to keep a set of keys, just in case. It wasn’t like she’d never be back. After she locked up and tossed the keys in her bag she cast a quick glance at the Hope Collective next door. The fiddle leaf fig in the front window had finally adjusted to the new space. They were fickle and hated being moved. She’d made an illustrated guide to all of the plants and which days they were to be watered and how much. The last thing she needed was Mitaka under-watering the nerve plants on the third floor. Or drowning the new monstera in the office.

They talked of everything and nothing, winding through the quiet streets, only stopping for a hot dog with mustard and onions. They passed the Cantina, still lively with jazzy music wafting out the door. Crunched fallen leaves beneath the soles of their boots, chasing them like little kids. Laughing together. The night had just begun.

As they turned around a corner, Ben pulled her into the warmth of the lamplight and kissed her. His lips soft and insistent. Arms wrapped around her to cradle her against him. She could feel the pattering of his heartbeat against her fingers, pressed beneath his jaw. Drumming faster when she grazed his lip with her teeth. A smile between them before he pressed a final kiss to her mouth and led her onward.

“Ben?” Rey said, lacing their fingers together. His thumb brushed over her knuckle, sending a shiver through her.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s go home.”

With their hands entwined they walked through the buzzing streetlights to his place, which was now their place. With framed photographs on the walls and her clothes hanging beside his in the closet. Mingling in the dresser. Two coffee mugs in the sink. A book of Hubble telescope photographs on the coffee table. A collapsable watering can in the coat closet. Green plants on every surface. The thought of quiet nights there, without beer stains on her jeans and bits of broken glass in the soles of her boots, was strange. But she was looking forward to the quiet. To stop rushing, for once.

New York moved fast — blurring subway cars, clipped conversations, speed-walking to the next thing and the next thing. Never standing still. She’d learned how to survive on that pace, and maybe even thrive, in a way. Stealing sleep where she could. Scavenging meals from leftovers and dollar pizza slices. Taking odd jobs and extra shifts. Painting infrequently, in her cramped bedroom.

Now she had time and space to create. To spend hours in front of a canvas, brush in hand, getting the lighting just right. Adding in new shadows. Blending colors that sang out from her palette. To try new things with her art without the fear of failure. To teach the eager. To provide the care and support that another young artist needed. To explore the galaxies of opportunity that waited for her. To love and be loved. To finally have a home.

* * *

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to this [amazing website](https://tree-map.nycgovparks.org/tree-map/tree/2128131) for telling me what kinds of trees are on the street where the Resistance is!
> 
> Temiri Blagg is better known as Broom Boy, from the end of _The Last Jedi_. What a powerful final shot for the sequel duology. Shame they never made a third movie.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Writing this story and sharing it during a time that has been difficult on a personal and global scale has helped bring some light to my days. Thank you, reader, for following along. For leaving a comment or kudos or just quietly enjoying. I appreciate you all more than I can say. I’m so grateful. 🖤
> 
> I have another Reylo fic set in the wizarding world about an ancestral curse, [Death-marked Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26546116/chapters/64710325). 
> 
> I’m also on twitter [@xdarkofthemoon](https://twitter.com/xDarkoftheMoon). Come say hello, share your nonsensical Co-Star horoscope, ask me if I listened to “Silver Springs” that day or see just how often I tweet about Pride & Prejudice (2005)! 
> 
> xx LunaRose

**Author's Note:**

> The Resistance is loosely based on a real bar in the East Village called Proletariat. The title of this fic comes from a song by We Are Scientists.


End file.
